The Other Malfoy
by girlontheindex
Summary: Cassiopeia Malfoy has always been a secret. Hidden away from the world, she had never wanted anything more than to be a normal girl. Wanted to be something more than her name. James Potter II was anything but a secret. With a father known around the world, and a mother equally as popular, he grew up with expectations to uphold. He wanted to be somebody other than his name.
1. The Unwelcome Birth

**A.N. Hi! So basically me and my brother do a** ** _Harry Potter_** **marathon every single year, in the summer holidays. This has been tradition for as long as I can remember now. We started yesterday, and whilst watching, I came up with the idea for this story. I hope you like it, and please tell me what you think in the comments!**

 **DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I do not own** ** _Harry Potter,_** **or else I would have insisted that Ginny be properly represented in the films.**

11th of August, 2004

Ellesmere, Shropshire, U.K.

A slender man, with hollow cheeks and icy blonde hair that fell past his shoulders, strands of grey more prominent than ever, paced back and forth in the narrow corridor, wringing his hands together with exasperation. Under his breath he muttered things to himself with a sharp tongue and almost venomous looking, silver eyes. He was clothed in what appeared to be finely crafted rags, which told of a man who once had been distinguished and powerful. Now, much like his features, they had diminished in grandeur.

His wife's screams echoed around the small, matchbox house, but the man seemed to have more pressing things on his mind. For instance, his son had come to him a mere month ago, with complaints of a pain in his forearm. Dismissing it as paranoia, the man thought nothing more of it. Until yesterday that is.

Dark Marks were as rare as rare can be nowadays, especially since the Dark Lord's defeat just over six years ago. Most of his comrades had been imprisoned, or killed, or, like him, fled. Lucius was no longer a wanted man, due to evidence he gave that his family were forced into helping the Dark Lord, evidence that may or may not have been fabricated. However that didn't mean he was welcome back into the public eye.

Lucius Malfoy had grown bitter, and cold. He couldn't sleep at night, living in constant fear that those far more loyal to the Dark Lord will find him, and make him rue ever running away. Terrified of his own shadow, Lucius thought that he'd never escape who he once was. So, when the Dark Mark on his arm started to trouble him again, burning as though it had been held over flames, he was more afraid now, then he had ever been.

What did it mean? Surely he wasn't coming back?

Worrying about his own woes had grown so prominent in his mind, that it overshadowed even the birth of his child, happening in the room beside him.

He rolled his sleeve up, and traced his fore finger over the fading ink. Lucius could swear he could hear the Dark Lord's cackling, almost a whisper in his ear, sending chills up his spine. The snake appeared to have withered away, thinner and feeble looking.

Pacing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, Lucius had retreated so far into his own thoughts, he didn't notice a little boy tugging on the hem of his raven coloured cloak. He slid his sleeve down immediately, flinching. Looking down, his curled his lip up at the child, with flaming orange hair, and a bountiful of freckles across his cheeks. He resembled neither his mother or father, though had inherited the same birth condition she possessed; he was a Metamorphmagus.

"Why is she screaming?"

Lucius removed the boy's hand, rather forcefully, plucking at his fingers. He had neither the will, or the patience, to strike up a conversation with a six year old. Even if it was his nephew.

Turning his back on the boy, Lucius, went to knock on the door, when it swung open before he got the chance.

There, in front of him, stood his sister-in-law. She was clad in an apron, and had crows feet decorating her face. She looked nothing like either of her sisters, save for the eyes, which were a dark hazel. She glanced over Lucius, and beamed at the little boy. He called out to her, calling her 'grandma!', and clung onto her leg.

"Teddy's chose ginger this week, haven't you?" she says, to no one in particular. It certainly wasn't to Lucius; he couldn't care less. "He's been spending every other weekend with the Weasley's, I suppose that's influenced his decision."

"As riveting as this conversation is, may I please be with my wife?" Lucius inquires, callously.

Andromeda Tonks tightens her lips into a thin line, and stands to the side, allowing the man through. Inside the room lay her sister, Narcissa, her blonde locks, now greying, stuck to her forehead and the nape of her neck with sweat, and her fair skin was flushed. In her arms, she held a little baby, bundled up in ivory cloth.

Lucius glided across the room, and stood over his wife, looking down at the child.

"What is it?" he asked her, in a tone that one would least expect to hear from a new father.

"It's a girl, Lucius," Narcissa answered, with a beam that stretched across her face, causing her to look at least ten years younger. Clearly she was happier about this baby than her husband. Andromeda also picked up on this.

"What are you going to call her?" she points out, as Teddy goes over to greet his new relative. Andromeda explains to him that this would have been his mother's cousin.

Narcissa had put a lot of thought into naming her baby, and had come up with plenty alternatives if it were to be a boy, or a girl. She knew Lucius, though displeased about being 'burdened' with another child, especially at their age, had been hoping it would be a boy, if they had to have a child at all. However, after raising Draco, letting Lucius have his say about the boy's livelihood, she had been keeping her fingers crossed for a little girl, one she could have solely to herself. It had been a Black tradition ever since there had been Black's to name your child after a constellation. Their daughter may bare the surname Malfoy, but she still was a Black, through blood and birth.

"I was thinking Cassiopeia, like the cluster of stars," she smiled, tapping the nose of her newborn.

"That's beautiful," Andromeda agreed, taking her sister aback.

It was out of mere pity that Andromeda had allowed her sister and husband to stay the past few weeks. They'd been moving around the country, never staying in one place too long. When Narcissa had discovered she was pregnant, it had been nothing short of a shock. At forty-nine years old she had never expected to bear another child. Yet there she was, carrying a child, living out of bags in abandoned castles and - God forbid - Muggle homes. Who was going to take them in, when anyone who had ever meant anything to the family were dead, or in Azkaban, or in hiding too? Narcissa, grasping at straws more than anything, reached out to her sister as a last resort. The rest of their family had long since perished. Maybe it was losing her own child that had made Andromeda sympathetic, maybe it was raising her orphaned grandson. Either way, she took them in. Lucius Malfoy had always repulsed her, his medieval views on pureblood privileges, which the Black family had always upheld, was the sole reason she had been disowned in the first place. Her sister, however, had been the only one to cry when she left.

"Cassiopeia Celeste Bellatrix Malfoy," Narcissa listed, with an air of satisfaction about her.

"You're going to name this poor child after _her_?" Andromeda spat, furrowing her eyebrows.

"She was our sister, Meda."

"She was a _murderer,_ or did you simply gloss over that fact?" the youngest Black sister hissed. "She killed our cousin! Killed my daughter, Cissy, my _only daughter_!"

Narcissa's eyes softened, and she struggled to find words to string together to express her grief. She couldn't understand her sister's pain at losing a child - here she was, just having given birth to her second child - but she too had suffered loss. Despite everything, she had loved her sister Bellatrix, and though she would never condone her past actions, there wasn't anything she wouldn't give to get her back.

"Bellatrix was a passionate and loyal woman who fought for what she believed in to her last breath, which is a lot more than can be said about you or your filthy Muggle husband," Lucius exhaled, as though bored.

"Lucius!" cried Narcissa, hardly believing her own ears. She glanced over at her sister, to see a pool of tears brimming in her eyes, threatening to spill. She pulled Teddy away from the newborn girl, and clutched him to her person.

"In the morning, I want you both out. I don't know what I was thinking letting you two back into my home, you're the same selfish low-lifes who put fortune over family I knew all those decades ago. You can find somewhere else to stay, I don't care in the slightest where."

Her face falling, Narcissa tried her best to plead with the woman. "Meda, please, we have a baby - "

"Who I give my deepest condolences to, having you two monsters as parents. First light, and you're to leave. Or else I'll personally send word out to all the Death Eaters who evaded death, and the law, do I make myself clear?"

"You foul, cowardly blood-traitor - "

"Do I make myself clear?" Andromeda called, raising her voice to drown out Lucius's own.

Narcissa, wiping away her tears, trying to hold herself together, nodded. Andromeda then left the room, but not before Teddy escaped her grip, and planted a kiss atop of the little girl's head. "Night night, Cassie," he whispered, in that kind of whisper that's not really a whisper only toddlers do.

The woman then left the room, swiftly, without saying another word to anybody. Lucius merely gritted his teeth, cursing the estranged Black sister under his breath. Looking over at his wife, who was now weeping, rocking baby Cassiopeia, he thought about saying something, anything that would comfort her. Then the pain shot up his arm, and he decided against it. He crossed the room and approached the door, with the aim of packing his bags ready for the next day, when Narcissa called out to him.

"What are we going to do about the baby?" she asked, in a small voice. She'd been worrying for months, and months, but now it was real, now she was holding her, and they had to do something, set something down in stone.

"What about the baby?" Lucius sighed.

"Everything, Lucius! We can't raise her in hiding, we can't care for her when we're forever looking behind our shoulders," she exclaimed. "What about when she turns eleven? What about school, what about magic? Is she ever going to learn?"

Then Lucius turned to look at his wife, and in that moment she wondered why on earth she ever married a man so cruel. The dim lights in the room cast a sinister light on his sullen face, and his eyes held no emotion, no feeling. Then he grinned, a grin that could only be described as nefarious.

"You should have considered this before you had her," he hissed.

"It takes two to have a child, Lucius, do not try and pin this all on me!"

"Who insisted we kept her?"

Narcissa didn't know how to reply. She didn't think she had to. It's not really a question she believed needed answering. She had wanted a daughter, ever since she was a little girl and old enough to dream. Lucius was contempt with a boy; after all, he needed an heir, didn't he? That was twenty-four years ago. Narcissa was being given the opportunity of a lifetime, she'd be a fool to give it up. Given her current circumstance, it wasn't the complete dream she'd wanted, but it was being granted all the same.

What kind of a person tells a mother she shouldn't have had her child?

And what kind of woman marries this person?

Lucius bound over to his wife, and brought his face close up to her ears, so close she could feel his coarse stubble grazing against her cheek.

"Listen here, alright? She won't ever go to Hogwarts, she won't ever get to own a wand, she won't ever get to perform magic. She's going to stay indoors, with us, where she's hidden. Nobody will know about her, not the Ministry, not the school. She will follow my terms, or else she can find somewhere else to go. She's been born, but she won't get to live. That's down to you."

What Narcissa should have done was leave that night, without her husband. She was never a Death Eater, she doesn't bear the mark. Her and Cassiopeia could have disappeared, and they would have been alright together.

But she stayed.


	2. I Dreamed Of Death

**A.N: Quick apology for not updating sooner, I have been on a two week holiday. Also, a reminder that this story has almost absolutely nothing interlinked with** ** _The Cursed Child_** **. I have yet to read that book, though I promise you it is sat on my bedside table as we speak. I fear I don't know the storyline quite so well, and this particular story is not about Albus, or Scorpius (to an extent) but my own character, and a few you will certainly recognise.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own** ** _Harry Potter_** **, unfortunately.**

11th of August, 2020

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, U.K.

I dreamt about death again.

Screaming, shrieking, blood, pain, suffering. It was the same every night. Jets of emerald green and vivid reds soar past me, as I walk aimlessly through a battlefield, or watch the life seep out of countless bodies, or hear the eerie cackle of somebody actually taking pleasure in the surroundings. There's nothing I can do. I want to help; my fingers are itching to curl around my wand, but of course, I don't possess a wand. Nobody in their right mind would ever sell a wand to a Malfoy nowadays. How Scorpius managed it . . .

Then I wake. I wake tangled in my sheets, a cold sweat encumbering my entire body. I'm at a loss for breath, and my same fingers are trembling. I don't dare close my eyes, afraid the images will flood back, so instead I fixate my vision on a portrait across my room, a portrait of a jewel of a boat struggling on treacherous seas. It's moving, of course, father wouldn't 'besmirch the great and noble House of Malfoy with _muggle_ art', despite my many pleads that he shouldn't be so pretentious.

My journal is on the bedside cabinet, and I reach for it without hesitation. The lavender scented candle in my room had long been extinguished, however dawn was fast approaching, a warm, apricot glow peeking through the curtains I'd once again forgot to close. Flicking to the page marked by a single swan feather, which was revealed to be a quill. Dipping the tip in the small supply of ink I had also on the cabinet, I scribbled away, in messy, chaotic scrawl, using notes only I understood, making it truly only decipherable by my own eyes.

Contained in these pages, these crisp, cream pages, tainted with ink blotches and innumerable stains from tea, tears, and due to the occasional paper cut; blood, were the secrets woven through my mind, corrupting and contaminating my sleep. Anything I could remember from the moment I regain consciousness, I record.

An hour or so is how long I'm writing for, noting down every detail. Unfortunately, I never see faces, so I can never pin down who's who in my dreams. Just when the ink starts to run thin, a _crack!_ fills the ethereal silence. I flinch, despite being just as familiar with that sound as I was with my own breathing. However, though the noise takes me by surprise, the sight doesn't. At the foot of my queen sized bed, stood a dishevelled looking house-elf, with pointed ears larger than her tiny doorknob sized face, and glassy silver eyes. Adapted to fit her tiny frame was a tattered cinnamon brown sack that once carried apples instead.

"Good morning, Io," I say, wiping the weariness from my eyes, looking up from my journal for the first time since opening it that morning.

"A very good morning it is, Miss Malfoy," she beams. It's an oddly adorable kind of smile, one that only Io could pull off. She walks forward, on her bony little legs, and procures from behind her back a poorly wrapped gift, no bigger than the palm of my hand. The recycled piece of string tied carefully, but messily, into a bow on top, reminded me of what today was. "Happy birthday, miss."

A wave of sickness washed over me at the thought of turning sixteen, though as quick as it appeared, it disappeared, when Io smiled once more.

"Thank you, Io," I told her, truly meaning it.

I opened it, aware of Io's bright, brassy eyes following my every move. Nails tearing at the paper, paper I recognised as a drawing I had created some twelve years before, which I had gifted to my father. I hold it out in front of me, looking upon a picture of four year old me, clapping as my father protrudes snow to fall out of his wand. It had been crumpled, torn apart, and then stuck back together with spellotape.

"Where did you get this, Io?" I ask, glancing over at the house-elf, feeling tears prick the backs of my eyes.

Sheepishly she looked down at her feet, shuffling, fiddling with the hem of her sack. "Io hopes you won't think bad of Master Lucius, but Io found the drawing in the bin a couple of months ago, with many others. Io couldn't bare to see Miss Malfoy's work wasted, so Io took them. Io didn't mean to disobey - ".

"No, no, it's alright Io," I mutter, smiling despite my despair. "Thank you. Really."

Io grins, and for a second she looks not like a house-elf, but a child. I turn my attention back to the present in my hands, and notice that it was a teabag. I'm taken aback by it's plainness, and simplicity. The eagerness in her expression told me that she had chosen this particular gift with care and precision; she knows I love tea, so she gifts me with a teabag. It's exactly what I want in the mornings, which she would know, as every morning I'm awoken by a mug made by her.

I don't say anything for a while, and this worries her. She squirms anxiously again, and reaches across me to take the present bag, fearing that I do not want it. "Io is very sorry, Miss Malfoy, she thought that you would like it. Io can't afford much, nothing really . . . "

Instead of letting her take the gift back, I kneel down to the floor, and wrap my arms around her tiny frame. There's nothing she can do, as her own arms are already outstretched. Burying my face into the crook of her neck, I hold Io close. "I love it," I whisper.

Breaking away, I can see tears welling up in Io's round eyes, and I stretch forward and dab them away with my thumb. She smiles, tilting her head, and is about to say something, when we both hear my father's voice echoing throughout the manor, calling to our house-elf. She disappears in an instant, leaving me alone on the floor in my room.

Getting back up to my feet, I cross the room to my window. Looking out at our grounds, the vast amount of green laid out before me, I'd never felt so suffocated. _Green, green, green._ A constant reminder of our heritage, of what being a Malfoy entails. Resourcefulness. Ambition. Cunning. Self-preservation. All traits that, in my family's case, required putting your own flesh and bone first, with disregard for anybody else. It was daunting, knowing that when it came down to the wire, my father chose to put his faith in a man so purely evil, he decided that in his quest for world domination, he'd risk splitting his should into seven - ultimately eight - halves. What kind of megalomaniac does that?

I suppose this is why I wasn't looking forward to turning sixteen. A teabag may not be the most thoughtful gift today, it may be the safest. For my brother, he received a Dark Mark. The same can't be asked of me, of course, but I never know what to expect when it comes to my family, besides the worst.

Walking over to my closet, I see that I'm only in an oversized black knitted jumper that only emphasised the silvery blonde hair I possessed. I run my fingers through it, sighing. It was long, down past my chest, and wavy. Not straight, like father's, but curly and winding, untameable. It fell about my face, bouncing. Mother liked to remind me that though my locks were blonde, a trait I almost certainly developed from my father's heritage, the curls were well and truly those of a Black. In particular, my late Aunt Bellatrix. My eyebrows were a chestnut brown colour, to add to the frustration of it all. My skin was porcelain, almost, not exactly the colour of milk, but pale enough.

Slipping on a silk, ivory gown, instead of dressing appropriately, I make my way over to the door, and throw it open, and descend the stairs.

Awaiting me at the foot of the steps were two people I adored more than most, and that was my brother and my nephew. Each of us bearing the same trademark Malfoy hair colour, and the same sterling, iron-wrought eyes. Draco's hand was coiled over Scorpius's shoulder, but he retracted once I greeted them, to allow Scorpius to throw his arms around me. The two year age gap between us meant that I had grown up more like a sister to him, than an aunt. Last time I'd seen him was Christmas, and that was eight months ago now. He was just as tall as me now, perhaps even an inch taller, a fact he was eager to flaunt.

"I knew it! I knew I'd be taller than you Cassie!" he jested, with a wide grin that extended to his eyes.

"Yes, well, I'm still the better looking Malfoy, won't you agree Draco?" I teased, biting my lip, as had become a habit over the past few years.

Draco smirks, planting a kiss on my forehead. "You'd like to think so, wouldn't you little sis?" he retorts, his voice soft, and playful.

"You have to see what we got you for your birthday," Scorpius told me, grabbing my wrist and dragging me into the lounge. "Don't listen to dad, I chose it myself. He was going to get you some stuffy old suitcase, but I reminded him you were turning sixteen, not sixty."

I chuckle, turning to glance at my brother over my shoulder. I couldn't help but notice how weary he was looking, how exhausted. "Eh, sixty. That's your next birthday, isn't it Draco? Sixty or seventy, I always forget," I joked, effortlessly causing him to smile. I couldn't do much to help, locked up inside the manor, but I could make him laugh, and I always believed laughter was the best medicine.

"I was forty in June, as you are well aware of, Cassie, seeing as you were the one who convinced Scorpius to chip in and buy that zimmerframe for my birthday gift," Draco recounted, pursing his lips, though I was fully aware of the grin threatening to spill.

"Ah yes," I nodded, as Scorpius and I shared a look. "Next year it's that mobility scooter." I winked at Scorpius as he snorted with laughter, Draco rolling his eyes at the pair of us.

"Don't listen to your aunt, Scorpius, she doesn't know what she's saying. Being cooped up inside has done funny things to her mind."

With that, Draco twirled his finger around his ear, motioning to his son that I had indeed lost my mind. Of course, it was all in good nature, and I loved the back and forth repartee we three shared. It was uniquely our own, and something I longed for, in the times I was alone in this manor.

"Only thinking of you, big brother," I sighed, kissing his cheek, as Scorpius searched for my present, checking his pockets over and over, with a furrowed brow. As my nephew was distracted, I reached out and squeezed Draco's hand, comfortingly. _You alright?_ I mouthed, to which he merely nodded. It was short, and courteous, and proved to me that he certainly was anything but alright. _Liar,_ I replied, but left it at that. I knew the last thing he wanted to do was discuss his current feelings, in front of his son. They'd both lost someone they held so very dear the previous year, and it had left deep scars on both of them, in completely different ways. Scorpius found solace with a friend from school, and buried his time and thought deep with work. Draco, however, didn't have that luxury. The war didn't leave him with many friends. Astoria had been his little slice of happiness.

"Here's one of them!" Scorpius cried, holding up a little gift box, wrapped far more delicately than Io's had been.

"It's certainly not a suitcase," I say, with a grin, as I take the present from him, shaking it almost comically.

"I told you, it's better," he assured me.

Before I could open the gift, the door to the lounge swung open, and there stood my parents, looking happier than I had seen in a long time. My mother, she had tears spilling across her thin face, a face that had aged gracefully. They were tears of joy, I hope, as she crossed the room to plant two kisses on my cheeks. My father was stood behind her, arms folded, with a grin decorating his lips, lips usually stern and stiff. He seemed far too pleased for it to be anything good.

"My darling little girl is sixteen today," mother cooed, holding my face in her hands. She had turned sixty-five earlier this year, but her good looks remained in tact. Her eyes, a striking teal colour, softened only when she looked upon the three of us younger Malfoy's. I suppose she maybe had looked at father like this, once upon a time, but that was a long time before I was born. "You know, I thank the stars everyday for giving us you. My sweet Cassiopeia."

I kissed her cheek, lingering for a while, until I pulled back, and wiped away somebody else's tears for the second time that day.

"Morning father," I said, turning to the greying man in the corner. My tone had clearly cemented, colder, even, but I doubt he even noticed, let alone cared.

"What a morning it is, Cassiopeia," he replied, remaining where he was. I didn't mind; I was well trained not to expect physical contact from the man. "You not going to open your presents?"

I glanced over to where a small, and I stress the word small, pile had been created, more than likely by Io, of gifts. I counted five, six if you counted the box in my hands, and seven if the teabag is included. _One more than last year_ , I'm quick to realise. _Who_ _'_ _s the new one from?_

I start with the one from Draco and Scorpius. The box is green velvet, and inside it holds a beautiful emerald ring, wrought from a silver metal, and adorned with black gems. Father is very keen to point out it bears the Slytherin colours, and that I should wear it with pride. I ignore him, and smile warmly over to my brother. I then pick up another one from the table, the writing atop almost as messy as mine, and I recognise it instantly as Draco's old friend, Vincent Crabbe. It's just a card, with twenty Galleons inside. I remind Draco to tell him I said thank you, and he nodded. He knew that I wasn't a particular fan of Crabbe.

Next was a book, a Muggle book no less, from my aunt Andromeda. I had yet to meet her properly, and from the story Draco told me, that was a long time off. Apparently, her and my father do not see eye to eye, and she has kept her distance ever since anyone could remember. However, she still sent me a present every year, whether it was out of pity, or a sense of duty, I'm not sure. This year, it was _Gone With The Wind_. Father turned his nose up at the gift, as he did with anything that wasn't made or invented by wizards. Again, I ignored him.

The next present comes from Scorpius, and I'm pleasantly surprised to see that it's a Holyhead Harpies jersey.

"Not just any jersey, Ginny Weasley's. She's the best in the league," Scorpius informed me, but he didn't need to. I knew exactly who Ginny Weasley was. My favourite player of my favourite sport; a fact Scorpius was well aware of. I shot him another wink, and began to fold it to put beside me, when I noticed father clenching his jaw, undoubtedly at the mention of a Weasley. I was starting to grow sick of his arrogance, thinking that he has the authority to turn his nose up at my presents, and I'm going to care in the slightest about his opinion.

"Is there going to be a single present you'll approve of, father?" I ask him, bluntly, half hoping for a reaction out of him. To my shock I garnered one, but not the kind I was wanting.

"Oh, I think you'll find that the small one I gave my counsel on," he replies, with a certain smugness I loathed about him. Mother shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and refused to meet my eye. "Now, open the big one first that's from your mother and I."

Hesitantly I picked up the box that was about the size of a sink, but weighing less than a bag of sugar. Lifting the lid, my breath was taken away by the sight of a delicate, ivory lace dress. Setting the box down, I peel the dress out, gently, afraid that the subtle fabric would unravel in my hands if I moved too quick. My eyes roamed every inch of the beautiful garment, drinking in the image of what I would look like in it.

"Oh, mother, it's wonderful, just wonderful," I say, leaning over to wrap my arms around her, still holding onto the dress. "I'll go upstairs right now and try it on - ".

"Not today, Cassiopeia. That dress is for . . . a certain, _special_ day," my father drawled, in that complacent tone of his that irked me so much.

Unwillingly, I slowly put away the dress, not wanting my fingertips to part with such soft material. "Fine. Another day. I'll just open this last one, and then I'll grab some breakfast, I'm starving."

"Again, Cassiopeia, why don't you wait to open that one later. In fact, I'm positive he'll be here to give it to you very soon."

Looking between the little box, and father, I furrowed my eyebrows. There was no name on the package, so I hadn't the faintest idea who it could be from. Thorfinn Rowle, maybe, who like father had narrowly escaped permanent incarceration. However, he hadn't been by the house in years, I doubt he'll even remember my name. Possibly Yaxley, though he was rumoured to be back in Azkaban.

"Why can't I open it myself now? I am more than capable of opening a box father, or were you not aware that I could complete such mediocre tasks without magic? I can blow my own nose too, if you'd like to see."

"Hold your tongue," my mother hissed, sharply, though I know she was scolding me before my father had the chance to. He had a far nastier way with words, and a much lower tolerance. If anything, she had done me a favour. "I'll call for Io to bring you some breakfast up whilst you are changing, our guests will be arriving shortly."

"And please, Cassiopeia, make yourself look in the slightest bit presentable? Or else you may give the impression you are in fact one of the house-elves, and not my daughter," smirked father, as I walked past him. I looked up into his steel grey eyes, only to be met with coldness and astringency.

"Oh but father, the way you treat me, I may as well be one of the house-elves."


	3. Masters Selwyn

**A.N: Okay, so imagine somebody like Season 1 Daenerys from Game of Thrones, as Cassie? Does it fit? I think so, but if it doesn't, just imagine whoever you wish. Thank you for supporting this story, please leave a comment, I'd very much appreciate what you have to say!**

I narrowly escaped my father's wrath, and bolted up the stairs, a smirk playing on my lips.

Breathing a sigh of relief as I closed the door behind me, I ran a hand through my wild locks, pushing the odd strand off my face. I throw open the cupboard doors, and run my finger across the array of clothes in front of me. I was fortunate enough to have parents who haven't stepped foot inside my room since I was probably around five, so they had't the faintest clue what type of outfits I had stashed away. Of course they'd seen me in jeans, and jumpers, a fact father was once again disapproving of, but given that I was rarely allowed out of my house, they didn't fight me on wearing what I wanted. However, on the unlikely occasion we have company - that doesn't include Draco and Scorpius - I had to make an effort, and wear wizarding clothes.

That didn't mean I had to try.

I picked out a black and white striped shirt with short sleeves, and a pair of blue denim mom jeans. My hair wasn't even worth the hassle, so I instead decided to just leave it natural. As I was slipping on some socks, the familiar _crack!_ echoed around the room, and I smiled before looking up, smelling the warm, buttery toast.

"Hi, Io," I greeted, taking the cup of tea off the tray she was handing me.

"Hello again, Miss Malfoy," she replied, sweeping low into a curtsey as she set the tray down. "Io hopes you had a good morning so far?"

"It's been . . . as expected, Io," I answer, knitting my eyebrows together. "Thank you for breakfast."

"Io heard you have guests coming, Miss. Io wants you to know that though she's forbidden from giving her masters orders, Io does not want Miss to feel like she's doing something she doesn't want to."

Cryptic as her message was, I didn't get a chance to ask her about it, as she Disapparated, undoubtedly answering somebody's call downstairs. That call happened to be the sound of the knocker, bouncing on the panelled front doors. I give myself once last glance in the mirror, and make my way downstairs. My mother gasps before I can see her face, and my father hisses at me to get changed. A vein had popped out on his forehead, and his grip on his walking cane, which no longer sheathed his wand, tightened. I was saved from his scolding when the door was pulled open, and Io stood to introduce the visitors.

"Master Aled Sewlyn, and his son, Master Rhys Sewlyn, for you sir," she piped up, unable to look in my direction.

I watched as Aled's eyes glossed over my brother and nephew, stopping for a fleeting moment on my mother, then passing over my father, and landed finally, on me. He was a stocky man, not at all lean and towering, like my father. His hair had remained a sinister shade of raven black, and is unforgiving eyes were so dark they could have been considered raven black too. He was dressed in crisp cut, tailor made robes, again, black, and not an inch of skin was showing save from his face and his hands, with were coarse.

His son behind him didn't look half as stern as his father, instead he had a face that was more fitted to the term architecture, with sharp, angular cheekbones and curving lips etched permanently into a smirk. Rhys's hair was just as dark as his father's, his eyes too, giving the impression his figure was cast in shadows. His arms were locked behind his back, and he stood with a posture that told of years of training.

Me, on the other hand, stood, leaning against the bannister, one forefinger absentmindedly tangled amongst my locks. My jaw dropped when I spotted the son, but I was quick to close it, aware that everybody's eyes were on me.

"Cassiopeia, look at how much you have grown since we last met," Aled spoke, in an accent so heavily Welsh, it was rendered almost incomprehensible.

"We've met before?" I queried, standing up right, cocking an eyebrow. If we've met before, then I immediately know that he couldn't possibly be anything but affiliated with the Dark Lord.

"Yes, you were Rhys's playmate when the pair of you were younger. Last time we saw you, you must have been four years old. Rhys was seven at the time."

As he spoke I look over the boy in question, who, after doing some simple maths, I noted that he wasn't a boy, but nineteen years old, and a man. Rhys's eyes lock with mine, and I'm not sure if I should look away, or match the fierce intensity in his eyes. Instead, I turn to my brother, who's watching the scene unfold with thin lips. Whatever is happening before me, he's already one step ahead, and doesn't particularly like it.

"It's strange, Lucius, I'd have thought seeing as though Draco here bears a striking resemblance to you, I'd have assumed that Cassiopeia would have taken after Narcissa," the man explains, looking me up and down, his eyes seemingly picking me apart. "But the girl looks more like Bella than either of you. Save for the white hair of course."

My parents don't quite know how to react to this, as both of them hold Aunt Bellatrix with quite high regard, but is it an insult or a compliment when somebody tells you your daughter looks nothing like you?

"Rowle said the same," my father told him, through a forced grin.

Aled, sensing my father's discomfort, gestured to the lounge, where the door had been left ajar. "Shall we go and take a seat?" Mother, knowing full well that father does not like to be told what to do in his own home, jumped in before he could, and sent Aled a wide smile, nodding. Even into her old age, my mother was an extremely elegant woman. Her choice of pristine, silver robes only brought out the teal in her eyes, and when she smiled, she looked twenty years younger.

Mother and Aled led the way into the lounge, my father gritting his teeth behind them. Draco took Scorpius's shoulder, smiling down at him, and followed my father in, leaving me and Rhys to bring up the rear. I was close enough to him to smell the oaky scent that encircled him, and his elbow knocked mine. Tall as I was, he had a good four inches on me.

"I don't suppose you remember me, do you?" he asked, composedly.

I shake my head. "Which is odd, as you'd think I would remember the faces of people who come to this house, seeing as there have been so few," I point out, half to him, half to myself. "Plus, I ought to have remembered the accent at least."

Rhys smiles, slyly. He reached up to undo the top brass button on his black waistcoat, which contrasted with the white, long sleeved linen shirt. "Well, I personally could never forget this hair," he tells me, his eyes roaming over what could only be described as my bird's nest. Then, he turned his attention back to my face, and I felt a heat creep up my neck, induced by his sudden scrutiny. "Did you always have this many freckles?"

"The sun brings them out," I replied, painfully aware that my voice had dropped in volume slightly.

"Oh, so Mother Gothel does indeed allow Rapunzel out of the tower?" he teased, his tongue running across his teeth in a smug kind of way. I must admit, I hadn't expected a man so good-looking to be much else, let alone quick-witted. I enjoyed his analogy, especially his referral to I can only hope is my father, as _Mother Gothel_.

I snigger, and take my seat next to him on the sofa, to my left, Scorpius. "Baby steps," I fire back, purposefully under my breath this time.

The pair of us look up, to see my father and Aled in a heated discussion, which I could only assume was about the two thing the Malfoy's hold in high esteem above all else; money, and reputation. My father was looking rather drained of colour, and I suspected Aled was swindling him into a deal he did not agree with.

"I told you, twenty should about cover it," my father hissed, barely moving his mouth.

"These are difficult times Malfoy, especially for men like us. You must understand - "

"Understand what? That I'm being tricked into foolishly giving away, more money than she's worth I might add, all because of a mistake you made - "

"A mistake _I_ made? Oh, we are in the same boat, you and I, except I have a son to consider, you a daughter."

"Don't talk to me as if I am to, in some way, _relate_ to your piteous - "

"I think you're confused, Lucius. It is not I who fled the first time it looked rough, it is not I who sold out my fellow brothers in arms, it is not I who has been refused pardon from the Ministry, it is not I who had their wand snapped before them."

"It is not I, Aled, who showed up on your doorstep twelve years ago, begging for help. You know that my bloodline is purer. It's either my daughter, or a Weasley, and do you really want to risk spoiling - "

"Fine! We'll stick to the terms first agreed!"

The two men turned, and were greeted by all our eyes, watching them intently. My mother, ever the obeying housewife, averted her gaze elsewhere, whilst I hadn't the want or the care to be so gracious.

"What were you on about, father?" I ask, knitting my brow, wondering why on earth I had been brought into the conversation. They had been discussing me as if I was some sort of livestock they were bartering over, and I deserved to know why.

Both of them looked at me as though I was some piece of the furniture that had all of a sudden spouted eyes and the power to speak, which on the odd occasion, does happen in this house. My father merely leant forward on his cane, jaw locked, whilst Aled beside him folded his arms, possibly resisting the surge to hex, maybe even resort to punching, my father - I know I've had the same urges.

"Isn't it time you gave Cassiopeia her gift?" Aled said, motioning with his eyes for his son to pick up the lone box on the table. Rhys conceded, and stood up, the pressure on the sofa shifting. With an inquisitive fervour, I watched as Rhys unwrapped the present, which I thought odd seeing as that is usually the job of the person _receiving_ the gift, not giving. He had quick hands, and nimble fingers, and I couldn't help but spot his muscles tensing and flexing underneath his shirt as he did so.

He then lifted out a hand to me, which I took with some apprehension, and positioned me directly opposite him. The box was small, resembling the box Draco had given me earlier in the sense that it too was an emerald velvet material. He then proceeded to open it, and as the light reflected off the diamond inside, I gasped. Not because it was beautiful, or because it was what I had wanted, but because of what if signified. What it was meant to symbolise.

An engagement ring.

"You can't be serious," I muttered to Rhys, searching his face for some kind of celebratory smirk or smugness for tricking me so awfully, but I saw nothing but sincerity, and sobriety. "Oh my . . . _you are_!"

I back away a little, turning to my mother for guidance. She couldn't seriously expect me to give this man an answer, could she? This man I've known all of five minutes. Instead, I found that she was picking at her nails, determinedly not giving my eye contact, her posture rigid.

"I was betrothed to your father when I was only thirteen," she told me, in a distant sort of voice. "To ensure our bloodlines remained pure. Your Aunt Bellatrix was your age."

"So this a betrothal, is it? I have no say in the matter, whatsoever?"

"No," answered my father, in a tone that told me he wasn't to be budged.

"I'm sixteen! Do you not understand how ridiculous this is?"

"You aren't to be married, my dear, until you turn eighteen, at the least," Aled informed me. Though he had called me _his dear,_ his demeanour was anything but friendly. His eyes had narrowed, and his knuckles were whitening.

"Oh, so this is more like the chain, and the ball comes later? Seems reasonable," I spit, sarcastically. My frustration was building up the longer I felt as though nobody was taking me seriously. This time I stared Rhys straight in the eye. "You're fine with this? You're fine with them pushing us into something we haven't got a single say on?"

He doesn't speak for a while afterwards, and I'm confident that he's on my side. That is, until he opened his mouth. "I believe in preservation of heritage. There are sixteen known pure-blood families left, and there are only two daughters of suitable age. Victoire Weasley, part-veela, with a werewolf for a father, and you."

I'm stunned. Truly stunned. Does bloodline truly matter to him that much that he's simply settling on the only pure-blood witch, of age, left in the world?

"Glad to know I was your first choice," I joke, at a loss for anything else to say. This only angers father further.

"This isn't a matter to be taken lightly, Cassiopeia!" he seethes, gripping the snake figurehead on his cane a little too tightly. I feared that it would snap off any second now.

"No, no, father, you're right. We're only talking about handing over your teenage daughter to some stranger to be wed, as though this were medieval times, and completely natural!"

Draco steps behind me, and places a hand on my shoulder. It seems so foreign, when I realise that he doesn't seem at all shocked by what was unfurling around him. My nephew besides him seems to reflect my horror perfectly on his face, eyes wide, and mouth hung open as if he were going to cry out at any moment. I'm glad that somebody else was as clueless as I was to the whole situation.

"Cassie, please calm down - "

"Calm down? You knew, didn't you Draco! How long for now? A few days? Weeks? Months?"

"Years," he replies, in a soft voice, that almost drenches with sympathy. I didn't want his sympathy, though, I wanted his support.

"Years!" I splutter. "How many?"

"Since you were four years old and Rhys was seven," repeats Aled, any former pleasantries evaporated. "This isn't a good time, I can see. Perhaps a few more days so you can mull it over, and we'll be back to sort out the formalities - properly, Lucius."

With that Aled leaves the room, stooping low however, to kiss my mother's hand goodbye. He waits in the doorway for Rhys to follow him, his travelling cloak billowing, the draft from the front door blowing through; Io was as alert as ever, and had already gone to open the door for our guests to exit. I now understand her ambiguous and equivocal teaser earlier, and appreciate her words more than ever, though I would have liked for her to give me some warning beforehand.

Rhys pressed the ring into my palm, with that almost infuriating smirk on his face. "I'll await your answer," he whispered, as though he didn't already know I had no choice but to say yes. He then leaned in and planted a kiss on my cheek, that took me by surprise, and retreated after his father.

I couldn't escape my own father's temper this time, as he crossed the room and was upon me as quickly as the Sewlyn's left. His bony hand caught a grip of my arm, nails consciously or subconsciously digging into my bare flesh, he gritted his teeth, nostrils flaring.

"You disgraced us today, you ungrateful brat," he hissed, still loud enough so that the rest of the family could hear. "Nearly destroyed everything I have worked towards to ensure that this family is redeemed and redefined as the finest of the wizarding families, you spoiled, selfish - "

"Father, that's enough," Draco interrupted, seeing that he was now drawing blood from skin, and hot tears in my eyes. I'm glad he noticed, as my own mother still wouldn't look up at me, feigning more interest in her nails than in her own daughter. Father let me go, unwillingly, shoving me aside. He then stormed away, muttering to himself, most likely heading for his study. He would stow away for hours on end in there, plotting and scheming, though more often than not, cursing Harry Potter for bringing the Malfoy's downfall.

I regained my balance, and looked down at the ring in my hand. Silver, with a large, clean cut diamond in the centre, it was everything I had hoped to receive from a man who loved me. From a stranger, however, not quite.

"Cassie, I'm sorry - "

"Sorry about what, Draco? That you never thought to tell me that for the past twelve years I've actually been promised to some pure-blood, who's practically a stranger? Or, that you sat there and watched our father barter with said stranger's father, over how much money he was going to receive once I've wedded, and bedded, his son?"

He can't answer, and it's exactly what I assumed. I scoff, shaking my head at him, and turned to leave, not without tossing the ring to the floor.


	4. More Like A Brother

**A.N: Thank you for the support, but don't be shy! Leave a comment, and tell me what you think!**

 **Disclaimer: I own none of this characters, besides Cassie.**

Infuriated. Enraged. Seething.

I hadn't thought it possible to loathe my father this much until this morning. Trading me to some man in the hopes that the money and the name will be enough to raise his stature in the Ministry again. He's deluded, completely deluded. We don't live in an era where the woman must produce an heir if the family is to have any hopes of continuing on the bloodline, even if father is convinced we still do. Pure-bloods were rare these days, and we have about as much luck keeping our blood unspoiled as we do ever being welcomed back into society with open arms.

On my birthday, of all days. He had to go and ruin my birthday. Last year was a travesty in itself, with the death of Astoria so close to my fifteenth, the entire mood dampened by her dreadful departure. None of us had felt like celebrating. The year before hadn't been awful per say, but I don't think a lonely fourteenth spent with just the house-elf for company can be classed as remarkable, however much I'm fond of Io. Every other year before that had been spent in a different hiding place. The valleys in Wales, a creek up in Yorkshire, hillside in Suffolk, and a cavern in Cornwall, to list a few.

This one, this one just tops them all. Tops every catastrophe, every disaster, every calamity. My own father deciding on a husband for me, fourteen years before my wedding is even legal.

I'd turned to escape up the stairs again, but thought against it, and decided to give my father a piece of my mind. I wasn't capable of keeping it bottled in. I had to burst, I had to rage and rant to him. He had to know how disgusted I felt at being bargained and bought like some kind of slave.

I don't bother knocking on his door, instead choosing to force the door open. Where he had been pacing back and forth he jolted, and stared directly at me, aghast, appalled that i dare disturb him.

"Do you know how cheap you made me feel earlier?" I demanded, tensing my entire body, blood boiling.

He sighed. He had the _audacity_ to sigh in front of me, as if my opinion of my own engagement was a mere drop in the ocean to the pile of problems he seemed to have been acquiring since the summer of 1998. Or really, since he considered having a permanent snake design branded into his skin a brilliant idea.

"Trust me, you weren't cheap," he reminds me, maliciously.

I tighten my jaw, and clench my fist so firmly, I'm certain I'd drew blood.

"You will marry the man, Cassiopeia, and you're foolish if you think that you're going to convince me otherwise. The Sewlyn's are wealthy, and have been pardoned by the Ministry. We have not, therefore to unify our bloodlines, we will give the Ministry further reason to pardon us too. So, as I said before, you will wed Aled. That is your service to this family."

"You Elizabethan ideology is pathetic," I spit at him. "I don't think you heard me before father; I am not going to marry anyone, for as long as I am a Malfoy, nobody is going to want me. Not really, not truly. You made perfectly sure of this when you pledged your allegiance to some power-crazed, egotistical, self-serving psychopath, and doing so you dragged our name through the mud, pulling Draco and I down with you. Who's the spoiled and selfish bastard now?"

No sooner had the words spilled over my lips, did I feel the sting of his hand across my cheeks. The noise echoed before I felt the pain, but boy did I feel it. I'm glad I could feel it, it serves as a reminder whenever I forget who my father _really_ is. I smile at him, as viciously as I could manage, the whole left side of my face prickling. He seemed unnerved by my reaction, undoubtedly expecting me to break down, or beg for his forgiveness.

"There's the father I know," I whisper.

Then I leave, oddly calm. I return back up to the confines of my own room, breathing a sigh of relief I wasn't aware I was keeping in.

I perch myself on my windowsill, bare feet dangling down, my heels occasionally grazing the brick wall. Below me lay cobbles, and the odd dandelion, craning it's neck to bathe in the scorching summer heat. The sun was completely in the sky now, not partially hidden by some faraway horizon, and closing my eyes I felt the rays kiss my skin. I always liked this kind of weather; hot enough to do pretty much anything you wished outside, sunny enough to pick up some colour on my painfully obvious porcelain complexion, warm enough to just relax. If the temperatures were to hike any further, than it became too humid and too uncomfortable to bear a minute outside, not unless you enjoyed the sensation of fabric cemented to flesh with gallons of sweat. I wasn't a huge fan.

Freckles always seemed to be brought out in sunlight on my face. They danced across my nose, and cheeks, never straying from the path. I liked them, as nobody else in my family had them. Mother, however, would never miss her chance to tell me how undignified they are.

I was enjoying the feel of basking in the summer's sun, when I heard the door swing open. Fully prepared for the onslaught of accusations with an artillery of quips, when I heard Scorpius's voice call to me from across the room.

"You might fall," he warned me, though I could tell he was smirking. "What will they say once you've split your skull on the pavement?"

"Your father will say 'better her skull than the man who tries to make her his wife'," I retorted. "And my mother will say 'we can't bury her in _those_ clothes'."

Scorpius laughs, as he crosses the carpet to join me at the windowsill. I undoubtedly had the best view in Malfoy Manor, with the Wiltshire Downs rolling as far as the eye could see, the emeralds and the chartreuses and the mosses all blending into one breathtaking collage of green. The sun would rise in-between the two solitary trees that sat perched on the small hilltop, and I could watch it ascend into the sky every morning, if I wished.

"I didn't know, about the Sewlyn's," he informs me, after a while of staring at the fields. "About any of it, really. Nobody tells me anything."

"You and me both, kiddo," I sigh, and lean over and ruffle his hair, the same silvery blonde I possessed. As I took a hand of the windowsill his eyes widened, afraid I really would plummet, and I chuckle at his paranoia.

"You don't like being cooped up in here, do you?" he asked, as he looks intently at me. I tilt my head, and his eyes widen when he sees the mark left on my face by father's hand. Clearly there must be a mark, whether it's bruised or simply just red I don't know.

"What gave you that impression?"

I'm teasing him, but I know he's trying to be serious.

"I'd give anything for you to come to Hogwarts with me."

My heartstrings are tugged at the gesture, which I fully believe he means. "That's sweet of you," I say, with a smile. It's a sad smile, because as much as his words are lovely, that's all they ever will be; words. Nothing can be changed about the school's opinion of me. "But I know that I can't. I'll just have to live through you, if that's alright? How many days until you go back now, ten, eleven, twelve?"

"Eleven," he nods. "You really would love it there. It's every bit as magical as you'd think, and just as great as you could possibly imagine, times ten."

"Times ten? That's quite high. You sure it's that great?"

"Oh Cass, you have no idea. Someday I'll show you."

"Deal. You can smuggle me in through Pigsmeade."

" _Hogsmeade_ , it's _Hogsmeade,_ Cassie!"

Grinning, I jump down from the windowsill, back into my room. The carpet feels soft underfoot, and my cheeks are tinging slightly. Downstairs I can hear doors slamming, and I know that means mother's tried to coax father out of his office, with no such luck. Grinning despite myself, I sit down on my queen size bed, the plain, ivory white duvet as delicate to touch as feathers. Scorpius sits himself next to me, fiddling with the slightly too long sleeves of his jacket.

"You don't have to dress like them," I tell him, sweeping my hair off my face. He doesn't meet my eyes. "You're a Malfoy, that should be enough for them."

"I'm not like you, I don't want to challenge anybody," he sighs, in an unsteady kind of voice. "I haven't got the guts too."

"You're a Slytherin right? Well, that doesn't make you afraid, or cowardly; it means you're cunning. You're not opposing them, because you worry you'll end up like _this_ ," I assure him, gesturing to the mark across my cheek. He glances up, his silver eyes grazing across my battle wound.

"Father doesn't mind so much, though he wouldn't encourage it. Mother, now she liked that I wanted to be my own person."

"Your mother was a real gem, kiddo. Better than the rest of us that's for sure. I admired her so much. She wasn't stuck-up like some of them are, nor as arrogant, or prejudiced. She was nothing but warm to me. You remind me of her. You've got the best bits of both of your parents, and I all I had to inherit was a surname and blonde hair."

Scorpius is watching me carefully now, and his lips curve into a smile, that strikes me so much, because the resemblance between him and my brother was uncanny. He takes my hand in his, our fingers curving together. I never once felt like I was his aunt; the age gap between us was far too small. During the first years of our lives, we hadn't a chance to meet much, but when I permanently moved into Malfoy Manor, our encounters became frequent, and soon we bonded much more than had been expected. He might as well be my little brother.

"Can you do the _thing_?" he inquires, the grin playing on his lips. It was cheeky, and I enjoyed this side of him. I'd like to assume I was the one who brought it out in him.

I squeeze his hand, and then let go, holding out my palm in front of him. I look around, doing that obligatory check that nobody is lurking in the doorway, and bite my lip. If I was caught doing what I was about to do, I'd receive much worse than a slap across the cheek.

Scorpius is holding his breath, his gaze intently on my hand. I click my fingers, causing him to flinch slightly, and then he releases a gasp of astonishment. Appearing from nowhere, a spark is ignited in my palm, and a small fire is crackling there. I can see the bright oranges and red flickering and reflecting in his eyes. Bringing my hand up to my lips, I blow, ever so slightly, and the little ball of fire shoots out of my grip, where I catch it with my right. I then swirl my finger through the fire, and slowly it starts to turn to water. The droplet floating ominously in my palm earns a quiet cry of delight from Scorpius - he hasn't seen this part of the act before. I'd learnt it only recently, as it was in the last few chapters of my battered copy of _Naturale Sorcerye: Elementes and the Essentiales_ , and had been perfecting it before I was to showcase it to him. Tilting my hand, the water began to trickle, and I motioned for Scorpius to open up his own hand. Willingly, without hesitation, he did so, and I poured the water into his palm, where it transformed into icicles the second it touched his skin. He laughs, holding up the icicles to the light, where the sun catches off of the little tips.

"Nobody at Hogwarts can do that," he tells me, shaking his head with bewilderment. "I don't even think Professor McGonagall knows how to do this - at least not without a wand."

I ruffle his hair again. "You're just easily amused," I wave off, though his words bring me great comfort. Maybe I don't need Hogwarts to make me a witch. Glancing out the window, into the back garden, I can see the broom shed calling out to me. Grinning, I nudge Scorpius, who's transfixed by the icicles still, and point towards the garden. His eyes meet mine, and I know that we're on the same page.

I've snuck out the window faster than you could say Quidditch, shimmying down the drain pipe that leads from past my windowsill, to the cobbles below. Having escaped from my room a hundred times this way, I was more than capable of clambering down, whereas Scorpius was a little more cautious than I. He took his time, with me guiding his footing from the floor below.

However, we've both got out feet on firm ground soon enough, and are racing across the pitch to where, fortunately, the broom shed has been left unlocked. I grab the broom that I'd begun to call my own; a Nimbus 2021, which had been all the rage seven years ago. Scorpius chooses the much more sensible one, a Cleansweep.

Kicking off of the ground, I'm in the air before Scorpius, eager to feel the breeze on my face again. My nephew joins me, clutching the Quaffle under his arm. You can't really have a proper game of Quidditch with just two players, so we settled for tossing the ball between us. It's a riskier, more adrenaline-filed game of catch, I'd like to think.

He was actually quite good, performing manoeuvres I had yet to see anywhere else. "And tell me why you have yet to try out for the house team?"

Even when he's hovering a good few feet above me, I can still see his eyes roll. Hell, I taught him to roll his eyes. "I don't want to, simple."

Sensing his discomfort at discussing school sports, I try my luck with a different topic. "So, humour your auntie; is there anyone at school you have your eye on?"

His usually porcelain skin flushes a deep scarlet, only confirming my suspicions. "You do!" I gasp, and immediately fly up to join him. "You'd tell me who, won't you?"

He snorts, and I realise that I'm going to have to work a little bit harder if he's ever going to tell me who this mystery girl is.

"Oh come on, kiddo, you know I won't tell - who have I got to tell? And anyway, it's not as though I'm going to know who it is anyway, or be able to confess everything to her, am I? I don't go to school with you lot. She'll never know. Please, I'm curious."

I can see his little engines whirring, his mind ticking over the possibility. He's chewing on his lip, and sighs. I grin - I've cracked him. I lean forward, comically, on the broom, careful not to tilt it, and put my hand under my chin, glancing wide-eyed up at him.

"Fine. But you can't tell father, and definitely not grandmother and grandfather, alright?"

It's never not going to be strange hearing somebody refer to my parents as ' _grandfather and grandmother_ '.

"Sure, because they'll be the first people I'll entrust a secret with," I retort, sarcastically, then pursing my lips together when I see the exasperated look on his face. "No, don't worry, I swear it'll stay between us."

He seems satisfied, and scoots even closer, afraid he'll be overheard.

"Rose Granger-Weasley."

At first I'm convinced it's a joke. I'm milliseconds off laughing, when I notice that he's deadly serious. He's looking at me, innocently, with the exact same kind of expression he'd use when he was little, and asking him if I wanted to play with him, or read to him, and my heart melts. I feel both overwhelmed with love for the youngest Malfoy, and pity. He clearly likes this girl a lot, or else he wouldn't have risked mentioning her, and that's adorable in itself. However, just like our last name brands us as political traitors and monsters, hers casts her as a blood traitor _and_ the daughter of a Muggleborn, both equally as despicable in my father's eyes. Draco, however much he had changed over the years, especially since the war, would never accept the fact his son fancies a Weasley. The rivalry between the two men was far too thick to even bear considering forgiveness. Plus, she bears _her_ name. How would Draco react to hearing _her_ name after so long? Scorpius wasn't aware of his father's affiliation with Rose's mother, and I doubt Draco would have kept his secret till his dying day, if I hadn't have read between the lines.

"I can't help it, Cass," he sighed. "She's ambitious, she's smart, she's kind."

"She's pretty isn't she?"

"The prettiest."

I smile at him, and he smiles back. I can see the frustration dancing in his eyes at the mere mention of this girl, as there's not a family member who'd support the relationship, besides me. However, I can also see the adulation of her, and sometimes that's all you need.

"You have to make me a promise, kiddo, okay? Promise me that when you next see her, you'll not hesitate, not even think twice about it, you'll simply bound over to her, look her square in the eyes, take her hands, and tell her how you feel. Don't leave a single thing out, or else she won't think you're committed. Then, ask her out. If you've done it right, she'll be swept off her feet, and will be thinking that she's never met a boy like you, and that she must say yes right that second."

"But what if she says no?"

"Then she can't be as intelligent as you say she is," I reply, quick-tongued.

We're both in fits of laughter, when my mother's voice calls to us from below. Not only does she bring us down to the ground, she drags my spirits too, informing us both that Scorpius and Draco were leaving.


	5. We Are Pleased To Inform You

As angry as I was at Draco for withholding such a momentous secret from me, I hated watching him go.

He hadn't been expecting me to hug him, and I didn't think I was going to. However my arms were around his neck soon enough, and he held me back.

"I love you Cass," he whispered into my ear.

"Still pissed," I replied, and pulled away. He was smirking, and it took all I had to not break the stern expression I had plastered on my face.

I turn to Scorpius, who's beside him, and we hug too. Next time I'd get to see him would be Christmas, and that four months away. Too long, if you ask me. Shame, nobody does ask.

"Remember, don't do what the teachers say, don't do you homework, stay up _especially_ late every night, only eat the bad stuff, bully everyone and anyone who's not a Slytherin, and if a stranger offers you an equally strange concoction, you must _always_ say yes; got it?" I tease, painting on as serious a look as I could muster.

"Remind me again why you're supposed to be the responsible one?" he laughs, sweeping his hair off of his face.

"I'm not - that's Draco's job," I reply, and give him another hug, not wanting to part with him. "I'll see you when you get back kiddo, okay? Have a good time, and hope everything goes _according to plan_."

He flushes pink, and Draco narrows his eyebrow, looking between the pair of us, but doesn't press. Scorpius hugs my mother, and she kisses the top of his head. He goes to hug my father, but then at the last minute decides against it, and shakes his hand. My father seemed satisfied with his parting, no matter how abrupt it was. Waving at them, with them both waving back, they soon gone with a resounding _crack!,_ allowing the departure of my mother and father to go about their business, leaving me alone in the doorway to stare at an empty courtyard.

I sigh, and take my time closing the door. When I shut the raven coloured mahogany door, it therefore begins the arduous task of growing older in a house I despise, with a father who despises me, and a mother who despises what we've become. I don't particularly enjoy living in a house filled filled with so much loathing.

However, I must, or else I'd be stuck hovering in the doorway forever. With a heavy heart, I step inside, and push on the brass nob, the click telling me the door was firmly sealed sounding eerily like the sound of a prison cell.

Dragging my feet behind me, I begin to walk through the entry hall, and descend the stairs for a third time that day, when no sooner had I shut the door, somebody tapped on the knocker.

Puzzled, but eager to know who was behind the panelling, I race to the door, assuring Io, who had appeared to do her duty, that I had it. "Don't worry, I'll get it Io. It's probably Scorpius again, you know what he's like, might have forgotten something - "

Swinging the door open, I quickly realise that it wasn't my nephew, but two figures I'd seen only in the papers, and a third I didn't recognise, though I felt as though I should have. My jaw dropped, and Io, who was peering around my leg, her tiny hands clutching onto my knee, gasped. I could feel her little body trembling beside me.

"Io, do you mind fetching mother and father?" I mutter, not taking my eyes off of our visitors. "They might want to come and greet our guests."

A few minutes later, cloaks had been hung, and tea had been poured, and we were all finally settled in the lounge, sat on the weary, emerald leather sofas that stretched across the room. I sat alone, on a chair cut from the same material, whilst mother and father sat together. The Headmistress of Hogwarts, the Minister for Magic, and an unknown man with a thin face, and mossy green eyes, all sat huddled on the one sofa. It was an odd sight, to say the least. The Headmistress, according to Scorpius, must be at least eighty-five, was sandwiched in-between the Minister for Magic, and this man, both who were around forty. All of them were simultaneously taking sips of their tea, the two youngest guests refusing to meet my parents' eyes.

The Minister, Hermione Granger, was a beautiful woman, that much was clear. Her hair was wispy, and the colour of her tea, and tied back nicely. Her eyes were a darker shade of brown, but warm, and kindly. Her willowy fingers grasped hold of her cup in her hands, as she nervously glanced around, occasionally tugging at her cardigan, as though she were cold. The goosebumps were visible from where I sat.

Why was she so nervous being here? Why did it look as though she'd rather be anywhere else, but in this room? Was it me, was it our family? Was it the rift between her and Draco? Surely she wouldn't know how sorry he was, how much he regrets his actions from his younger years, especially those directed towards her . . .

"What is it you have come to see us about, Professor?" my mother asks, when the silence starts to grow ridiculous, a smile far too wide to be genuine. My father was seething far too much to even utter a word. "Anything we may do for you?"

"Oh Good Heavens, what makes you think we require something from you, Narcissa?" Professor McGonagall answers, looking almost appalled at the prospect. "No, no, we've come for that one." Pointing towards me, with a bony finger, I furrow my eyebrows, barely aware all eyes were on me.

"Me? Why?" I inquire, feeling my heart hammering erratically inside of my chest. I wasn't guilty of anything, was I? Surely I'm not punishable for my parents decisions?

"Are we correct in thinking it's you sixteenth birthday today?" chirps up Mrs Granger, her voice still oddly quiet. I nod. "We have a gift for you, if you'd just like to take it . . . there you go." She hands me a letter, addressed with just my name, _**Cassiopeia Celeste Bellatrix Malfoy**_ , scrawled delicately across the parchment. I turn it around, and gasp when I see the Hogwarts seal. Looking up at Mrs Granger, then up at Professor McGonagall, then finally at my parents, who I can see are both regarding the letter with equally venomous stares, I proceed in beginning to open it, when my father's hand shoots across and lands on my own, firm and severe.

"Cassiopeia, dear, don't you think you should let your mother and I open it first? You never know what may be contained inside," he says, slowly, in a forcibly sweet yet sickening drone that isn't fooling anybody.

"If I'm fortunate, it'll be a long lost section of Astoria's will, informing me that she's left me a house, where I'm welcome to live, free from your prying eyes," I spit back, yanking my hand back. He grits his teeth, a vein popping out of his forehead.

I continue opening the envelope, where I'm left stunned by the words inked on the letter inside. I read it once, going so fast I'm susceptible to whiplash, and then rereading it over and over again, ensuring that I haven't been mistaken.

 **Dear Miss Malfoy,**

 **We are pleased to inform you** **that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.**

 **Term begins on 1st of September.**

 **Yours Sincerely,**

 **Neville Longbottom**

 **Deputy Headmaster**

The letter slips from my hands, which have gone numb, and into my lap. Hungrily, my father snatches away the letter, and scans it scrutinisingly. My mother is reading it over his shoulder, her eyes like pinballs rolling back and forth in her head. I looked back over to our three guests, who weren't watching my parents, but me instead.

"This is . . . an insult on our family, Minerva! You arriving here with the blood-traitor Longbottom and _that filthy -_ "

Me and the other man are on our feet before he could finish the sentence, fuming. My father's hatred of Muggles and Muggleborns was not only ridiculous in this day and age, but spiteful and cruel. I couldn't believe his audacity to speak to not only a Muggleborn so bluntly and harshly, but one whom was our Minister. As I had expected, he looked ferocious that I stood up, quite literally, to him in front of guests, as his vein made another appearance.

Father wasn't the only one surprised. The man, Professor Longbottom I assume, and Mrs Granger, are looking at me with such bewilderment, I know that neither had expected me to differ on such matters. McGonagall, however, was grinning from ear to ear.

"There, it's settled. Miss Malfoy may attend Hogwarts this year," she says, clapping her hands down onto her knees, as though that had sealed the deal.

"But, how will she catch up? She will be joining at sixteen, everybody else will have had six years there already," my mother points out, trying to sound as though she was thinking of my welfare only.

"Something tells me that Miss Malfoy here is more than capable," Professor McGonagall replied, with a knowing twinkle in her eye.

"You still don't look satisified, Lucius?" Professor Longbottom asks, regarding with complete disgust. His name struck a chord with me, recalling something I had heard from Draco. If I was mistaken, they had attended school together, and the man before me was another one of the poor students who had suffered at the tongue of my brother. I immediately felt guilty, though I had not been alive at the time to do anything about the issue.

Again, my father was far too furious to speak, and relied on my mother to plead his case. "What about a wand? She does not own one, she has been forbidden . . . "

"Cassiopeia will be pardoned fully by the Ministry, as she would have done sixteen years ago, if you had not hidden her away," Mrs Granger answered, somewhat more assertive than before, but still rather timidly. It was as though she were afraid my father would pounce any second. I don't blame her at all; I was on the edge of my seat too. "She will be allowed a wand from Ollivander's."

Fully convinced I was having a dream, and that the awful events of the morning hadn't happened, I shook my head, and pinched my thigh, waiting to wake up. When nothing occurred, and I remained perched in my seat, I couldn't stop the grin from spreading across my face.

"I'm going to be given a wand?" I inquire, not believing my words at all.

Mrs Granger nods. "After the Ministry discovered your existence when you were nine, I fail to see why you weren't pardoned then. You weren't born during the war, and have had nothing to do with those dreadful events. However, I'm concerned that many who work there still fear your name."

"How has Scorpius been able to attend school then?" I point out, more curious than accusatory.

It's Professor Longbottom who answers. As one of his teachers, I suppose he knows best. "It wasn't with ease, I must admit. As you know your brother hasn't been pardoned either, and will not be allowed his wand back. However, unlike your own parents, he did not send the acceptance letter back when his child was eleven years old. He and Astoria were more than complacent to have their child arrive at Hogwarts."

Confused, and feeling betrayed, I knitted my eyebrows together. "But I thought that it was the child's choice whether they wanted to go to Hogwarts or not?"

At this, both Professor Longbottom and Mrs Granger look almost ashamed, then remember who's house they were in, and whose side my family had fought for, and they stiffen their expressions.

"Due to the nature of your case, Miss Malfoy, we didn't push for a change of heart," he tells me, with thin lips.

My heart sinks, and I'm left feeling even lonelier than before. "You lied to me," I mutter, than repeat myself, louder, glaring at both of my parents. "You lied to me. You told me that they never sent a letter, that I welcome there. I didn't have to be trapped here for the past five years. I could have been enjoying myself, learning, and receiving an education, millions of miles away."

The truth is, Hogwarts didn't want me either. They weren't willing to fight for me, leaving me to grow up in a house I would never call a home, whilst everybody else my age was free to learn.

Tears are threatening to spill from my eyes, but I'm determined I'm not going to cry in front of my father, let alone my new Headmistress, and the Minister of Magic.

My mother goes to open her mouth, but words don't escape her. She can't think of what to say, can't think of an excuse fast enough, or convincing enough. Good, I don't want to hear any more lies coming out of her mouth.

"I'm going to go to Hogwarts, if you'll have me, but on the condition Draco is pardoned too. My nephew was pardoned, why shouldn't he be?"

"I'm afraid that the decision regarding Draco's crimes is final," Mrs Granger says, sounding genuinely sympathetic. Why?

"Please, you must understand he was young. He didn't want to disappoint his family, and felt forced into something he never once wanted to be a member of. Never once has he harmed anybody, and didn't play a single part in the Battle of Hogwarts, good or bad."

"I had friends die in that Battle, and you think we should pardon your brother because he stood by and watched?" Professor Longbottom splutters, his voice rising, until he was quietened by the Headmistress, who shot him a silencing glare.

"He had friends die too, and family members. I'm not saying what he did do was right by any account, but never once did he physically serve the Dark Lord. He merely was pressured into attending the gatherings, and branded with the Dark Mark, against his will. Ask anybody in Azkaban what Draco Malfoy did for their cause, and they'll spit at your feet and tell you nothing; that should be the justification you need to pardon him. If genuine convicted Death Eaters are certain that my brother did not help them, or their master at all, then what are the crimes against him? Bearing a tattoo that Severus Snape, a man who I believe worked for Dumbledore's side after all, also possessed? If that man was allowed a wand, much less a position teaching hundreds of children, then why is Draco still seen as a criminal in the eyes of the Ministry?"

When I'm finished I'm out of breath, blood boiling under my skin. My father and mother, who I was certain I was _not_ going to defend in my speech, were watching me with agape mouths and wide eyes. Professor Longbottom and Mrs Granger looked just as astonished as they had earlier, whilst Professor McGonagall was once again beaming at me.

"Miss Malfoy makes a compelling case, Hermione," she grinned, addressing her former student.

The Minister seemed to agree. "I'll look into the terms of his conviction, though I'm certain that it can be overturned," she assures me, with the smallest hint of a smile. I express my gratitude through my features, understanding completely and all at once why Draco feels the way he does.

As Professor McGonagall and Hermione begin to sort all the arrangements out with my mother, as my father had slithered back to his study, I'm left combing through everything with Professor Longbottom, who was to be my new Herbology teacher.

"Seeing as though all of your subjects this year will be new to you, I, along with many of the other Professors, have agreed to tutor you. However, I stress that you must be willing, and compliant in your studies, or else you can come straight back here, alright?" he begins, sternly. He is very stiff, and doesn't smile at all. I suppose it's his loathing of my family that seeps into how he approaches me, and I don't hate him for it at all.

I nod, hoping that by appearing keen and eager, he'll see that I really am grateful to be given this opportunity.

"Good. Now, here's a list of books I'd like you to read before you arrive at school. It's long, but manageable. I'm sure Hermione would be able to plough through this all in one sitting."

Nine volumes, that's all it was. All exploring the basics of magic, I suspect that the first years would be expected to purchase the same books.

"I'm sure I'll be more than able to work my way through this list before the start of term; there's not much else here to do other than read."

Glancing around the room, he sighs. "Oh, but of course, the horrors of living in a house so vast and illustrious." He sounds almost bored, and not at all piteous. Not that I want his pity.

"I'm not like my brother," I tell him, forcing him to meet my eyes. He must know that I'm not going to make the same mistakes.

The man seemingly searches my eyes, waiting to see if I was going to tell him I was joking, or trying to find those telltale signs of somebody who's lying. Clearly, he finds nothing.

"As anybody told you that you look like your aunt?" he finally says, and there's a certain sadness to his voice that I can't explain. I know he means Bellatrix, due to the amount of photographs we have dotted around the house holding her portrait.

"Just this morning, actually," I reply. "I think it's the hair."

He stands up, smoothening down his cloak, and goes to take his leave, to join the other two, when I find that I can't let him simply walk away.

"I do appreciate this lifeline, you know. It's so much more than I deserve, coming from a family like this. I'm not going to waste it."

"What do you know of her? Your aunt, I mean."

It's odd, how quick the transition from stone faced teacher to anxious schoolboy is made, but I see the shadow of his former self flash across his features, exactly how Draco had described him to me.

"I know she was a Death Eater. I know that she was the Dark Lord's most faithful servant. I know that she broke out of Azkaban and joined him when he rose. I know that she was by his side when he fell."

"Do you know why she was in Azkaban?"

I shake my head. It's not that I hadn't asked, it's simply that I hadn't received an answer.

"When was the last time you left this property?" he asks me, curious.

"I was nine," I admit.

"Then you're in for a real shock when you join the real world. Your parents have kept more from you than an acceptance letter. I'll see you on the 1st."

The Minister and my Headmistress then rise to their feet, and pass us on their way to the doorway. Professor Longbottom joins them, nodding his head towards me, as they approach the hallway. Io is waiting for them, holding the door open. Mrs Granger glances piteously at the house-elf, than back at me, and her dark chestnut eyes immediately fill with sadness. I was aware of her efforts for the protection of magical creatures, such as house-elves, and I immediately felt guilty. I personally had made sure that nobody under this roof laid a finger on Io, but I had yet to free her, which would have been a much greater kindness. I suppose I was selfish, and did not want to live in Malfoy Manor if I didn't have her here, to smoothen the path.

The three of them shake my hand, Professor McGonagall wishing me luck, and then turn to take their leave. Acting on an impulse, I reach out and place a hand on Mrs Granger's elbow. She whips her head around, wide-eyed, and tilts her head at me.

"Draco's biggest regret was that he wasn't brave enough to stand up to father. If he had, things might have gone differently for him. For one, he wishes he hadn't listened to him when it came to matters of blood. Then maybe he would have been nicer to you, because he truly does believe that you didn't deserve any of the nasty things he ever said or did."

My voice is low, as to stop others from overhearing, though I suspect that by the look in Professor McGonagall's eyes, she had heard every word.

Mrs Granger looks more than taken aback; she looks as though I had as good as slapped her in the face. Then, as if being slapped again, she plastered on a thin smile. "I hope Hogwarts is everything you hoped and more, Cassiopeia. It was for me."

Her sentence hung in the air, as the three of them disappeared with a resounding _crack!._


	6. Yew Wood, Fourteen Inches, Unicorn Hair

**A.N: Thank you for waiting, all your support has meant so much to me. Hope you like this new chapter!**

31st of August, 2020

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, U.K.

Twenty days had passed. Twenty painstakingly long days.

I'd managed to keep my news from Scorpius, as I planned to surprise him with the news today, though I'd had no choice in telling Draco; he needed an explanation after his letter of apologies, personally signed by the Minister of Magic, arrived at his doorstep.

I'll never forget the look on his face. Tears were streaming from his eyes as I recounted my meeting with Mrs Granger, and my new Professor's, and how I'd asked that he be pardoned.

"But it's a joke? I can't really be getting back a wand?" he spluttered.

"You're right, you're not," I answer, my grin extending further up my face. " _We are._ I've been pardoned too."

Draco wasted no time in wrapping his arms around my waist, and hoisting me off the floor, into his arms. He'd always been taller than me; I suppose the twenty-four year age gap had something to do with that. Now, we were the same height, my head buried into his shoulders.

"So what does this mean, then? Are you going to Hogwarts?"

"I start tomorrow!"

The pair of us were so overcome with emotion, that we just hug each other for a while. Finally, after so long of holding our breaths, we can be what we were meant to be; witches and wizards.

We soon break apart, as I take him upstairs so he can help me to carry my bags away. Due to the fact neither of us had wands, we've always just cracked on, doing things manually. That's one of the reasons mother and father brought on Io to work for us, so that I wouldn't humiliate the family by behaving so completely like a Muggle, as thought it were an awful thing.

I'd packed one trunk, an old case, handed down the generations, the previous owner of the sleek, black case being my aunt, Bellatrix. The name _BLACK_ had been embellished into the front. Draco offers to carry it for me, and as he reaches out to pick up the handle, I caught a glimpse of his Dark Mark. It was a vibrant as ever, though the snake looked dormant, it's eyes cold.

Only mother was waiting for us downstairs, with tears pooling in her eyes. I breathed in heavily, fully expecting her to lecture me about the 'dangers of Muggles' and what have you. Instead, she ushers us both into her arms, Draco towering over her, and holds us. She was crying, and when I pull away, I noticed they were happy tears.

"My darling children, this is all I've ever wanted," she sighs, dabbing at her eyes with a cream coloured handkerchief. "You are both Malfoy's, Black's too, and magic is what makes us, _us._ As long as I get to see you both as you truly are before I depart this world, then I will be the most fortunate mother in the world."

Not quite the send-off I could have hoped for, but more than I had thought would happen, so I smile and kiss her cheek all the same. With a promise to write as much as possible, I step out the door with Draco, waving at mother, until I Apparate for the first time.

My insides, for a split second, felt like they were on my outside, an invisible hook clawing at my navel, tugging me in every which direction. Finally my feet find solid ground, all the air swept from out of my lungs. Without realising, my hand had gripped onto Draco's arm so tightly, I was certain I'd cut of circulation.

"Are you alright?" he asks, smirking ever so slightly, watching with amusement as I try and catch my breath.

"Don't enjoy this too much," I warn him, though find threats aren't so easily delivered when the one delivering the threat is doubled over, clutching their sides.

After managing to keep my breakfast down, I look up at the house in front of me. It was perhaps quarter the size of Malfoy Manor, and not quite as dated. It only had two floors, and was fairly modest, something I knew father would sneer at if he saw it. The brickwork was russet coloured, and the door was a henna brown. The drive held a gleaming black BMW 7 Series, which I admired greatly.

As nice as the house was, different to my own which I suppose is why I liked it so much, I couldn't help but notice the fact it was alone, tucked behind an array of elm trees, a small winding road stretched out in front of the property, which judging by the only sound being that of the birds chirping in the woods all around, I could tell was scarcely ever used.

"Astoria's aunt left this house to her in her will, just before Scorpius was born," he told me, all traces of laughter wiped clean from his face, his expression becoming serene, as he gazed at his home. "She adored this place. The garden's a great size for children, she had pointed out, and there are enough rooms for plenty of them. Of course, had we have known she couldn't have any more after Scorpius . . . well, it's a lovely house all the same. What do you think, sister? You've never seen it before; how does it compare to Malfoy Manor?"

"There is no comparison," I reply, taking in the sight of the building, all it's quaint little quirks calling out to me. "This is so much . . . it's . . . _this is a home._ "

I'd never uttered the word home out loud before. I'd never needed to. I grew up, living in a different county, a different inn, hotel, house, every year. We'd only returned to Malfoy Manor when the last of the Dark Lord's closest comrades had been taken care of, and there was nobody left to come after father. Nobody, save those the Dark Lord had affected. Death threats, nasty surprises in the mail, such as burned snakes, unwanted visitors in the dead of night; all of this accounted to my dislike of Malfoy Manor. It was hollow, it was cold. Decoration consisted of grisly portraits from the 12th Century, and awful tapestries depicting battles far too gory to be believed, the Family Trees that adorned the wall in two of our eight bedrooms, the Malfoy one, and the Black one. I was on both, and I would sometimes spend hours, holed up inside, tracing my ancestors as far back as my namesake, Cassiopeia Black, the spinster who died at the grand old age of seventy-seven, without a husband or any heirs. Good for her, I say.

Me and Scorpius were the youngest on the tree, with a second cousin of mine, called Edward Lupin, who was a whole six years older than me. I found that my favourites on the trees, were those with burned out faces. For me, they symbolised witches and wizards who had thought for themselves, going against our families' twisted views on the 'mingling of blood'. I would never admit it to my parents of course, but among those whom I admired were my Aunt Andromeda, late cousin Nymphadora, and a late second cousin, Sirius Black.

"Glad you like it," Draco smiles. "Astoria suggested we bring you up here, rather than you trailing mother and father around the country. I told her you're better off with them then you were me. I hadn't learnt to forgive myself. Still haven't. I'm sorry, I was selfish. Your life could have been so different."

I put a hand on his forearm, and squeeze, reassuringly. "The only people who were selfish, were mother and father. You have nothing to apologise for."

With that, we walk up the drive, my eyes drinking in the sight of such a beautiful home.

The door is thrown open, and Scorpius stands, and for the first time I've seen, he's dressed in Muggle clothes. A pair of blue jeans, and a red jumper, his silvery blonde hair swept off his face, not slicked back. He looked like a normal boy, not this pure-blood wizard who had been visiting me for fourteen years.

"Cassie?" he calls, bringing a hand to his forehead, so he could peer out at me, as though he didn't quite believe I was stood there. "What are you doing here?"

I grin. "Would you believe me if I told you I'm here to come Diagon Alley with you, and buy all of my school things?"

He clapped a hand to his mouth, gobsmacked. Glancing between me and his father, for confirmation, we approached him in the doorway. "No way," he murmured. He was frozen, and when he realised nobody could get past, he immediately took the suitcase from Draco, and hurried inside, ushering me in. If his reaction was anything to go by, I'd hazard a guess and say he was happy I was coming school with him.

Inside was even lovelier than the outside. Paintings of serene beaches and mountainsides adorned the walls, alongside photographs of family members. The one of my father must have been quite old, as his skin was taught around his cheeks, and forehead, so sign of weariness or stress or exhaustion evident on his crisp features. I was surprised to see so many of me up on the walls, ranging from different ages. My most recent one was taken perhaps six months ago, and I'm sticking my tongue out at the camera.

I found myself in the lounge, and I'm pleasantly surprised by how cosy it looks. Not like the vast, empty space of ours. No, this was inviting, it was welcoming, it was personal.

"If you just want to set your case down there, Cassie, we can get in the car, and make our way to London," Draco tells us, with a smile.

His smile never wavers, even when me and Scorpius are running rings around him, and the car, trying to splash one another with our bottles of water. I manage to catch up to my nephew, my front shirt dripping from where head got me first, and I tip the remaining contents down his back. He shrieks, and does this funny little dance, trying to dry the back of his shirt. I'm doubled up in laughter, whilst Draco opens up the car doors for us, wrangling us back.

I get to sit in the front, my fingers tapping away eagerly on my lap. Inside my stomach was a mixture of butterflies, and nausea. Today would be my first day living as a witch, not somebody living _with_ witches and wizards. Of course I could do hand magic, however that was secret, and it wasn't going to help my tidy my room, or wash the dishes now, was it?

On the thirty-five minute drive into the city, Scorpius and I mainly did all the talking, where he filled me in on the do's and don't of Hogwarts, and then we debated about which team we thought were going to win the league this year.

"No other team has a squad like the Tutshill Tornadoes," Scorpius told me, proceeding to list of the players he deemed most noteworthy. "Name one other team in the league with a lineup that strong!"

"Uh, the Holyhead Harpies," I answer, as simply as breathing. "All of of your players are pigsshit - sorry, I mean horse manure - in comparison to Ginny Weasley." I was quick to amend my language when I catch Draco throw me a cautionary glare in my direction.

"Oh right, just because she's a girl, that automatically means she's better than all the boys out there?"

"No, it's because she's a damn good Quidditch player," I retort.

"Cassie's right, I saw Ginny play at school; she's phenomenal, though back then I wouldn't have admitted it," Draco informs us, in a fairway kind of tone. "But I thought she married Potter, why's her name not changed?"

Being an avid Quidditch fan, and even greater Ginny Weasley fan, I had this answer all ready on the tip of my tongue. "On the pitch, Ginny prefers to be known as Weasley, because she wants to gain recognition for her family, and her heritage, not who she is married to. Off the pitch she's Ginny Potter."

Draco seemed impressed with my knowledge, and of Ginny. "Good for her, I say."

For the first time in my life, I can see the London skyline. It's every bit as breathtaking as I could have imagined, embodying everything I'd everything I've been deprived of growing up a Malfoy. Culture, modernisation, vitality, and most importantly, takeaways. I could practically smell the egg fried rice being cooked and served in Chinatown from here.

I rolled down the window, and stuck my head out, the wind whipping at my face, affectionately. Cars zoomed past, beeping their horns at one another, rude gestures flying left, right and centre. I was in the heart of something for once, not sitting on the sidelines, looking in. That reminded me . . .

"This is the first time I've been in a car," I mutter, then repeat myself to Draco and Scorpius.

"You've been in a car before surely," Scorpius replies, with a ludicrous expression on his face.

I shake my head. "Mother and father don't own a car," I tell him, with a shrug. "' _A pointless Muggle creation, invented to fill a gap in their lives we had solved with other magical means, such as Apparation, Portrays and brooms_ ', that's what father would say, anyway."

We find a place to park the car, and all get out. Draco ushers us to his side, as we cross the busy road into the main streets. Muggles streamed past us, scrolling through handheld devices that blared out a bright, white light, and white wires peeking out from under their hair. I pointed this out to Scorpius, who laughed, and shook his head at me.

"Those are called phones," he explained. "Muggles use them to communicate and to document their every decision and daily routine on social media, like on Snapchat and Facebook."

"Don't they have owls?" I queried, bewildered. _Phones, social media, Snapchat, Facebook_ ; what do any of these words mean?

Again, he laughed. "I thought you ordered your clothes on a computer? They're all Muggle design, I just assumed."

"I tell Io what I like, and she delivers me these. Mother tried to get her to fetch me robes a few times, but I know how to work the dreadful enchantment that keeps Io bound to our service, and I can slip through the loopholes."

 _Phones, social media, computers, Snapchat, Facebook_ ; what do any of these words mean?

I decided that however curious I was, I wouldn't ask him anything else, out of fear of being even more confused.

We continue walking, past monuments and shops and attractions, when I stumble across a shop where a mannequin in the window was dressed exactly like me; in a pair of black jeans, and an off the shoulder white top, with billowing long sleeves. Scorpius appears by my side, and looks up at the clothes.

"See what I mean?"

Suddenly, a woman appears in the doorway off the shop. She's perhaps a few years older than me, tall, more leg than anything else, with sleek, blonde hair that stops short above her shoulders. She looks between me and Scorpius, her icy blue eyes running over the pair of us.

"I see you're a fan of our brand," she smiles, nodding towards my outfit.

"Very much so, yes," I reply, not sure of what else to say. I hadn't really though about brands until ten minutes ago, I wasn't aware of many.

"You and your brother should come in and have a look around, you both look like you have an eye for clothes."

I'm about to reply, when Draco looms over our shoulder, a small smile on his face. "Ah, there you two are," he sighs, pretending not to notice that the woman was gawping at him from inside the store. "Ready to go? Hope they weren't bothering you."

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear that really didn't need to be tucked, she flashes a flattering beam in Draco's direction. "No trouble really, I was just saying that you have two very fashionable children."

He doesn't correct her, and I suppose it wasn't worth the hassle. When there's twenty-four years between people, it's only fair to assume they're father and daughter.

"Well, I hope you have a nice day," he says to the woman, as we walk off. The smile droops from her face, and she bounds over, pen in hand. Taking Draco's hand, she writes down a series of digits on his palm.

"That's my number, don't be shy," she mutters, rather flirtatiously.

Draco doesn't blush, or appear at all embarrassed by this exchange, instead nodding his head at the woman, and turned to leave. She watched us go, biting her lip. I turned to my brother, eyebrow raised.

"Apparently, people seem to think that he is . . . _attractive,_ " Scorpius explains, saying the last word with a soured expression.

"She seemed friendly," I tease. "You should send her an owl."

He taps his hand. "That's what this is for," he replies. "But she's far too young for me."

"You're right, and she's certainly no Minister," I whisper, watching his reaction closely. His jaw tightens, and he wouldn't meet my gaze. Quickening his walk, I follow after him, a grin playing on my lips.

Had I imagined the entrance to Diagon Alley was in a filthy, crumbling pub named The Leaky Cauldron? No. Considering it was the largest area dedicated to only just wizards and witches, I'd have thought that to celebrate such a significant place, a grand gate would have been more fitting. However, Draco was quick to point out that it had to be easily concealed from the public. What better way than by a seemingly abandoned building? I suppose it was pretty ingenious.

The barman acknowledged the three of us all walk in, with a grim disposition. He scrubbed just that little bit harder on the glass in his hand, a glass that no amount of scrubbing was going to clean. His dark eyes followed us to the exit, sneering after us. Other inhabitants of the bar looked up to watch us, with beady eyes, whispering in hushed voices. They all regarded me with obvious curiosity.

We were face-to-face with a brick wall. Furrowing my eyebrows, I looked around me, expecting to see a doorway or something. "Is this it? A dead-end?"

Draco smiled, and turned to Scorpius. My nephew took out his wand from his jean pocket, and proceeded to tap on the copper coloured bricks. Slowly, after the elaborate pattern had finished, the wall started to disfigure itself, folding back, revealing a whole other street on the other side. Bustling with family after family, all dressed in traditional robes, or like me in Muggle brands. No two people looked alike, some rushing past others, shopping list in hand, muttering things to themselves, some stopping to stare at the awe-inspiring shops that lined the pavement.

To name a few; Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, Gringott's Wizarding Bank, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and the one I was the most eager to enter; Ollivander's Wand Shop.

I locked eyes with Draco, and I tugged him forward, unable to contain my excitement any longer.

The first thing you notice when you walk in Ollivander's Shop is that how disorganised it is. I knew immediately that we'd get on famously. The hunched figure of a white-haired man, rifling through boxes, could be seen in the very corner. The second we stepped through the door, the bell above rang out, and his head turned, slowly. His eyes were almost luminous, in the dim light of the shop. He smiled, and returned to his position behind the counter. He was old, extremely old, but from the way his eyes twinkled, you'd have thought he was still a young man at heart.

"How can I . . . - "

His voice trailed off when he noticed our hair colour, and his lips tightened. Unconsciously or consciously, he took a little step away, and locked his fingers together.

"I didn't think I'd see a Malfoy in here for a long time, not after you, son," he simply said, gesturing to Scorpius. His bright eyes met mine, and they narrowed. "Let alone three of them. What's your name, dear?"

Clearly his dislike of our family name did nothing to tarnish his manners, and for that I was extremely grateful. Richer and more powerful men had turned their noses up at us before.

"Cassie," I answered.

"I assume the wand is for you?" I nod. "Forgive me, but aren't you too old to buy your first wand?"

"I've only now been accepted into Hogwarts, sir," I explain, not sure what to address him as. This is received warmly, and a smile threatens to break the thin line in his lips. "And, I've been pardoned, Draco too. Legally, we're allowed wands. I have the letter in my pocket if you'd like to - "

"My dear, that won't be necessary," he shakes his head, holding out his hands. "You seem like a trustworthy person, I'll take your word for it."

He turns his attention to my brother, and all trace of a smile disappears. "If I remember right, and I suspect I do, you're first wand was hawthorn, with unicorn hair? Ten inches?"

Draco doesn't need to nod, Ollivander is spot on. He holds out a finger, and slips into the back room. A few moments later, he returns with a box, and hands the wand contained inside to Draco. It's a long, dark brown wand, with a small leaf pattern decorating the handle.

"It's hawthorn still, nine and a half inches this time, I know that you blend well with hawthorne, however it's not unicorn hair. Dragon heartstring. You will find this much more powerful than your previous wand, so heed caution."

Passing the wand from hand to hand, Draco seemed more than pleased with his new wand. He thanked Ollivander, who merely nodded his head in return. He glanced back to me, and I could see his mind ticking away, behind those gleaming eyes. Just as he had with Draco's, he disappeared into the back, and returned a second later with another box.

"Try this one out," he asked, giving me the wand. It was jet black, and thin, a simple band encircling the handle. It felt almost moulded to my touch. "Yew wood, fourteen inches, and unicorn hair."

I give it a flick, unsure of what else to do, and found that a stream of glittering blue light danced out the end, shooting up into the rafters, casting a cool, blue hue over the room. The light illuminated Ollivander's face, and I saw that he was pleased with it's performance.

"Yes, that wand will do nicely," he muttered, then his expression turned stern, and he stepped forward with a certain urgency. "It's important to note, however, that due to the temperament of the wood, this wand is just as easily swayed to the Dark Arts, as it is the other way. I am only willing to hand this wand over, if I can be certain it won't be used to do wrong, Miss Malfoy."

I feel conflicted by this proposal. I don't blame the man, really I don't, for asking it of me, but it hadn't occurred to me that people would automatically assume _that_ of me. Assume that I am just as capable to kill and curse as the rest of the Dark Lord's followers. To assume it of my father, a known Death Eater? I would have. But of me? Is that what people are going to think? That I've been raised to think all Muggles are filth, and deserve to perish?

"I wouldn't dare," is all I say. Ollivander seems satisfied with my answer, and turns to Draco, who is already counting out the Galleons.

 _I wouldn't dare_ , I repeat in my mind. I have no desire to do wrong, to commit evil.

"May I give you a word of warning, Miss Malfoy? All eyes will be on you, tomorrow. There are going to be people simply waiting for you to make a mistake and prove them all right. Scorpius has managed to keep his head down, however I suspect you aren't quite so able to remain inconspicuous. I detect a great deal of power in you. Don't waste it."


	7. Out Of The Tower

**A.N: Thank you all for being so patient with me, I'm sorry for the delay. Lately I've had so many exams, and as I'm not the most academic of people, it's really starting to pile up on me. Hopefully I haven't kept you waiting too long. So grateful for all the support, and I hope that you enjoy this chapter!**

Two common occurrences happened as we strolled down Diagon Alley; people jumped out of our way, frightened, or they would hurriedly whisper about us to one another, tongues flapping faster than the people darting across the street from us.

On the rare occasion, somebody would nod their head towards us, or even flash Scorpius a smile. The general consensus seemed to be that nobody was sure who I was, glancing oddly at me out of the corner of their eyes, knitting their brows together in deep thought. My nephew nudged me, and muttered to me; "they're all looking at you."

Feeling slightly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of so many strangers, I tried not to meet any of their eyes, instead looking straight at Scorpius. "Damn, I have toothpaste on my face again, don't I?" I joked.

Scorpius chuckled.

My wand hadn't left my palm. It didn't feel right to put it back in my pocket, or discard it in a bag. It was mean t for me, and I was meant for it. Five years late, I found it, and filled the void that had been slowly consuming me. Sure, I was adept in natural magic, able to create snowstorms and whirlpools and fireballs in my fingertips, but it hadn't made me feel any more like a witch. It was odd. When I was little I showed those telltale signs of magic dwelling in my being, when I caused my pillowcase to erupt out of frustration, feathers swirling around my room, symbolising the surge of fury coursing through my tiny, nine year old body. The first ever time, I can remember, when I truly realised what I was, or whom I should be, was when I was four years old. We were hiding in a small cottage outside a town in Ebbw Vale, South Wales, and I'd run outside to watch the fish swim by in the little stream that ran past. They were glittering colours, vibrant oranges and fiery reds. I crouched down, my bare toes dipped in the chilly water, watching wide-eyed. Then, lost in thought, one particular beauty began to levitate out of the water. I was so shocked I gasped, in awe of this seemingly flying-fish. It looked me square in the eye, and then plopped back in the water, carrying on as though nothing had happened.

It took me a while, but I soon realised that I had done that; I had somehow caused it to soar out of the stream.

Since then, I'd been eager to know more, keen to further discover what I could do. Call it impulsiveness, call it curiosity, call it enthusiasm, call it whatever you want. I just knew that I had to know how far my limits could be stretched, what else I could make fly.

Snapping me out of my own mind, Draco tapped me on the forearm, leaning down to whisper in my ear. "If you don't mind just putting your wand away, Cass, people assume the worst of us." His tongue isn't scolding, more empathetic. He's only warning me for my sake, and I appreciate that.

"Do they expect me to hex them or something?" I scoff, watching as a particularly sour-faced witch with a permanent scowl etched into her thin face, gripped her younger son tighter, bustling away from us.

"Or worse," Draco said, curtly. "Now, if I send you to get your school robes fitted and what-not, would you mind if Scorpius and I go and run a few errands? We'll be fifteen minutes, at the most, and we'll meet you back here."

Pocketing my wand, I nod at Draco, giving him a smile. "Sure, the robe shop is . . . ?"

"That way," he answers, pointing further down the street, at a shop on the left, signposted as Madam Malkin's. "Are you alright by yourself? Scorpius can always come with you."

"No, no, I'll be fine, don't worry."

Why do people say don't worry? It's not as though when the words come out, the other person is going to immediately relax, and not spend another thought on the matter. I can tell that if gives no comfort to Draco whatsoever, and he nods his head to me, forcing a smile onto his face, and left with Scorpius in tow.

"Alright, but please don't wander," he pleads, and then adds when he sees my expression; "I know what you're like."

Watching them walk away, I breathe a sigh, and head off towards Madam Malkin's. I really did mean to go straight there and straight back, but a poster attracts my attention. It's old, fading and peeling away from the wall, but somehow it had remained in place for all of twenty-two years. It was a wanted poster, and the figure fighting against the chains was none other than my Aunt Bellatrix. Her face was hollow, making those infamous Black cheekbones, I had admittedly inherited, even more prominent. Dark circles hung under her eyes, which flickered with malice. She was screaming at the wizard taking the photograph, bounding towards the camera - I was convinced she was going to break free from the paper.

I felt sick to my stomach. The Ministry had offered one thousand Galleons for her immediate arrest.

A figure appeared over my right shoulder, and I snapped my neck around to see who it was. I was taken aback to see a tall, young man I vaguely recognised, with striking turquoise hair, and piercing cobalt blue eyes. He was dressed in a pair of grey jeans, a black t-shirt, and a dark blue button down. He wasn't looking at me, but instead at the poster, with gritted teeth.

"She murdered my mother, you know," he told me, flatly.

I didn't know what to say. An apology wouldn't fix anything, however much I felt it appropriate.

"What a bitter, twisted woman. How could you kill your only niece in cold blood?"

My family tree flashed before my eyes. The countless hours spent pouring over it, memorising every union, every tangent, every trail, I knew in an instant whom this man was, by association only; his face has been burnt off the tree ever since he was born. I gasp. He seemed to know who I was all along, however.

"Hello, Cassiopeia," he sighed. "I wondered when they'd finally let you out of your tower."

Now I really don't know what to say. Here, stood Edward Lupin, my second cousin. The half-breed son of my mother's estranged niece. No, it's cruel to call him half-breed. He might not even have inherited his father's condition. He did he know it was me, though? We've never met before.

"The hair," he explained, as if reading my mind. "I'd have recognised it anywhere - the whole street has. Unfortunate, your hair. The shade of your father's, but the style of Great Aunt Bellatrix. Has anybody told you; you look just like her."

The words were hard to hear, even now. The image of our aunt looming on a wanted poster behind us, I couldn't stand to be affiliated with her, let alone be compared in appearance with her.

"I look like a Black," I correct, though my voice is quiet. "The problem is _she_ was a Black too."

Edward smirks. "Yes, that does seem to be the issue, doesn't it?"

Suddenly a girl rushes up to Edward, and plants a rather large, and rathe unnecessary kiss on his cheek. She's slim, and jaw-droppingly beautiful, so much so I can feel my kneels threatening to buckle, with golden, blonde hair, straight as straw, not platinum and wild like mine. Dressed in a strappy white swing dress, she only realised I was stood there when her tiny feet accidentally stepped onto mine, she turns to apologise, flicking her hair off of her shoulder, delicately.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't know anybody . . . " Her voice trails off when she manages to get a proper glance at me. A hand clamps over her mouth, and her eyes widen. "There's another one?"

Furrowing my eyebrows, I struggle to follow. "Another what?"

"Another Malfoy! Draco has a daughter too? Why haven't we met before?" she rambles, in a high-pitched tone, attracting even more attention from passersby. "Did you know, Teddy?"

"Vic, this isn't Draco's daughter," he tells her, before I get a chance to explain myself. "This is - "

"His sister, Cassie."

This seems to puzzle the girl. Tossing her hair once again over her shoulders, she knits her eyebrows together. "So what, your father is Lucius? But you must be at least what . . . sixteen?"

"Yeah, so? My parents were fifty, it's been known to happen. I don't see the big confusion."

"No need to get arsey, I was just wondering. God, you Malfoy's are all the same aren't you? Conceited, vain, too proud for your own good."

"I wouldn't know; how is it being conceited?"

Edward, or should I say Teddy, steps between us before any more nasty words can be shared. He reached out and grasped his girlfriend's hand, and she immediately cooled. Me, not so much.

"Listen, I don't know why all of a sudden you're out in public, and frankly, I don't see why I should care. Your family has brought mine nothing but pain," he tells me, without remorse. My hands are clenched so tightly, my nails are digging into my palms. I want to both cry, and lash out, both at the same time. "Yet you personally have done nothing to me. I hope that you're more like Scorpius than the rest of the Malfoy's, or indeed the Black's, because then we might even be able to get along."

What he does next, shocks me.

He extends his hand to me.

I take it, with a mixture of apprehension, and gratitude. He smiles, and though it's small, I return it all the same.

"You look surprised that I haven't ran off yet."

"It's because I am," I blurt, sincerely. "It's like you said, my aunt killed your mother. All my life I've been told how much I look like the _great_ Bellatrix Lestrange, that I had half expected you to curse me on the spot. I know I would have."

He smirks, and turns to the blonde beside him. "Cassie, this is Victoire Weasley, my girlfriend," he introduces me. "Vic, this is Cassiopeia Malfoy, my second cousin."

The girl, Victoire, reacts as though she knew all along that we were related. Trying to picture the family tree, and adding up dates and such, it all clicks, and she nods her head. "That's right, you would have been . . . you would have been Teddy's mum's cousin."

Teddy looks away, and back at the poster over my shoulder. Bellatrix was sneering at us, cackling even.

"The resemblance is uncanny, between you two," Victoire sighs, shaking her head. I resist the urge of screaming _I know!_ at her. "So, what's with the big reveal? Nobody knows you exist, then sixteen years later you're strolling around London."

I think for a second, then smile. "I got my letter."

"You're going to Hogwarts?" Victoria inquires, her eyes widening. "Aren't you a little old to start?"

It's not that I hadn't thought about the fact I was starting five years too late before, but to hear somebody else say it, really hit home. Maybe I was too old. Maybe, I'd left it too long, and thinking I would be able to catch up was a ridiculous idea. I'd never touched a wand before, let alone practised magic with one. What if it is all too complex for me? What if I'm too far behind, and I haven't a single hope of catching up?

Or, what if I'm incredible? A hug leap, yes, but what if I happen to be alright, maybe even quite good? Would I really waste a chance to discover my capabilities, because of a shred of doubt planted by a stranger? Not bloody likely.

"I think I'll be alright," I reply, with a hint of confidence about me. Victoire seems taken aback by this, though oddly impressed.

"Well, I wish you luck," she tells me. "I left three years ago, but I still have nine cousins at the school, and a younger brother and sister. They'll contest to how difficult it is. I hope you're prepared."

"I've spent sixteen years preparing, I think I'll be fine," I assure her.

She smirks, and holds out her hand too. I take it, butterflies churning in my stomach, for no coherent reason other than the thought of our hands touching. It was strange.

"Something tells me that you're right," she retorts, boldly. Throwing her honey blonde locks over her shoulder, she leans onto Teddy's shoulder, gazing up at him with her captivating doe eyes, and he interprets this as their time to leave.

I can see, behind Teddy's cobalt eyes, his brain ticking and whirring. He's contemplating whether to hug me goodbye, as though we were proper cousins, second or not. I make the decision for him, and shake his hand.

"I'm not going to ask why you're so calm about meeting me, or how you even know I exist, or why you chose to be civil with me," I say, simply put. "Instead, I'm going to thank you. You made what could have been an awkward and unpleasant encounter something I will remember fondly, and for that I'm grateful. Really grateful."

His smile is lopsided, and he retracts his hand quickly, his eyes flickering between me and the wanted poster of my aunt on the wall. The similarities were growing all too painful for him, I could tell.

"It's been nicer than expected meeting you again, my mum will be intrigued to know what you've been up to," he muttered to me, and nodded his head as he left, Victoria giving me a small wave. The pair disappeared into the throng of shoppers, and I watched as the turquoise speck ducked into a store further down the street. Inside, I could make out small figures laughing and talking, fiddling and playing with items from the shelves. Above the door stood a brightly coloured sign, which read; _Weasley Wizard Wheezes._

' _Meeting you again'._ What had he meant by again? I can't recall ever meeting Aunt Andromeda, or Teddy, and why would she be _'intrigued about what I've been up to'_? She doesn't know anything about me, save for my address and name. My head was spinning, and without thinking, my legs carried me all the way to the robe shop, where the two owners, both with the exact same shade of azure blue in their eyes, flinched when they saw me.

They were young, perhaps early thirties, a woman and a man, who possessed identical features, including the same horrified expression etched into their faces. Obviously they were twins, and shared ownership of the shop, as both wore badges that had **OWNER** scrawled across.

"Oh Merlin, there's another one," the woman muttered, looking me up and down from behind the counter. She had rather large, and rather hideous, earrings in, that resembled dragon's claws.

"She's clearly a Malfoy, just look at the hair," the brother retorted, crossing his arms, and placing a hand under his chin. He was hardly one to discuss hair - his was greased back, stuck down by some sort of super strength adhesive.

"Exactly, Mallory, _look at the hair,_ " the sister hissed, curling her lip at me.

Her brother, Mallory, gasped. "The poster outside? No, Maliyah, don't be ridiculous . . . she couldn't be . . . or is she? . . . perhaps . . . it is rather similar . . . "

"Is she a Malfoy, or a Black? That is the question."

"What if she's both? Lucius had a fling with Bellatrix before she was blown into smithereens. It would explain a few things."

"How about her age, stupid? Bellatrix died in '98, which was twenty-two years ago. This girl's barely over seventeen."

They were talking as though I wasn't in the room. Not even bothering to disguise their disgust of me, they didn't even appear to be ashamed about discussing me so openly. I cough, cocking my head to the side, hoping that I would remind them.

"Would you mind cutting the gossiping for a few minutes, I need to buy some school robes."

"She's shopping for school robes? At her age?" Mallory said, as he crossed his arms across his chest. I'm not sure what he was thinking when he dressed himself this morning, but that bright orange waistcoat _did not_ match the purple wizard's hat he had perched atop of his head.

"I haven't seen her in here before," Maliyah pointed out, shaking her head. "Come to think of it, I wasn't aware that old Draco had another child."

"Yes, well that family is very mysterious, aren't they? I mean, when has one been sure of anything they've been up to?"

"It seems odd though that she'd only now be attending Hogwarts; I thought the Malfoy's weren't allowed wands? All besides Scorpius, of course."

"That's only after poor Astoria begged the Ministry to take pity on him. Perhaps that's what her father did; beg."

"Draco Malfoy, beg? Please, more like bribed them. I wouldn't put it past him, despite how the fact he's supposedly redeemed himself."

"Did you forget sister, they haven't the wealth they possessed before the war. Sure they have money, but not enough to persuade any sort of man to pardon a Malfoy."

The pair were laughing so snidely at Mallory's comment, that I had to pretend as though it didn't sting a little, and act as though there wasn't truth behind their words. Instead, I only spoke louder.

"If you're so convinced that I don't have any money, I can always take _this -_ " I shake the bag of coins under Mallory's nose, watching intently as his upper lip stiffened, and his eyes darted towards the emerald velvet pouch. " - elsewhere, eh?"

I despised that I had resorted to dangling money in people's faces to get what I want, but it was the only way I could have possibly garnered a reaction from greedy, spiteful toerags, such as the ones stood in my company. It was such a Lucius Malfoy kind of trait, that I made a mental note to never, ever, mention it to him, or risk him telling me that we're not so different after all. In all honesty, we couldn't be further apart. I was more like Io then I was father.

The looks on their faces when I spoke up were so appalled, it was as if I'd asked for a rollerskating elephant. Silently communicating with each other, the woman, Maliyah, inclined her head towards me, gesturing for her brother to serve me instead of her. It was obvious that he'd rather be doing anything else, but caved pretty quickly, as his sister took out her wand and pointed it menacingly in his direction. Plastering a false smile across his face, he turned to me, and clasped his hands together.

"My name is Mallory Malkin, that over their is my twin sister, Maliyah Malkin. How may we help?" he inquired, in a voice so sugary, I feared I may have garnered a cavity in the short while he was speaking. His sister conveniently burst into a coughing fit after he had finished his rehearsed speech, and he rolled his eyes. "Sorry, how may _I_ help?"

"As I just said, less than a minute ago, I am in need of Hogwarts robes."

His lips are pulled taut, and his eyes are dull, though rake me up and down with an intense sort of curiosity. Nodding his head, he holds his arm out, motioning for me to step forward. I do so, and stand atop of the little podium, so that he may take my measurements. I refused to be a compliant customer, if anything to watch him squirm. He had a short fuse, and an even shorter tongue.

By the time he had collected all of my measurements, he was beetroot in the face; the same shade as his hat, in fact. He muttered the sizes to his sister, and she disappeared into the back room, and appeared a few moments late, as sour-faced as ever, a new set or robes in her grip. She handed the bag to me over the counter, her talons grazing my own fingers, not so accidentally. I dropped the coins onto the table, and walked out the door, positively fuming.


	8. Boys Like Him

**A.N: Thank you for being patient, I know that this update isn't entirely on schedule. I feel as though that's all I ever say when it comes to the author's notes, but that's just because I'm awful at keeping to deadlines. I hope you enjoy this new chapter! Again, thank you for waiting :)**

The second I left the shop, I immediately regretted my behaviour. It was the kind of way my father would conduct himself, and his business, and I detested the fact that I did something he would be proud of. Something he would

I stood out in the street, both physically and appearance wise, as I glanced left and right. I saw no sign of my brother and nephew. I wasn't a very patient person, I'll admit that, and standing still for a long time isn't something I'm good at. Instead, after a solid three minutes waiting, I caved and began to prowl the pavement, peering in shop windows. The effect was rather amusing; people shrieking or dropping whatever they held in their hands at the sight of a Malfoy in public, however it still stung, I'm not going to lie.

One particular woman, perhaps in her mid sixties, came face-to-face with me in the doorway of an ice cream parlour I lingered in a bit too long. Looking me up and down, her eyes fixated on my hair, and the wand protruding from my pocket, she scowled. It wasn't just a simple scowl, it was full of loathing and hatred, her cloudy eyes filled with venom. I gulped, and tried to move out of her way, but she held out her walking cane, keeping me in my place.

"You have no right to carry that wand," she hissed, poisonously. "Your family is a disgrace, and you should all face the only punishment fit for the likes of you monsters; the Dementor's Kiss."

"I'm sorry . . . that you feel that way," I mutter, feeling as though I'd been slapped around the face. My fingers were trembling, and I feared that my legs would buckle.

The elderly woman grinned, maliciously. "Trust me, I'm not the only one who believes you're poison."

Satisfied with her words, she slipped away, smugly. My heart was hammering a hundred beats a second, and I was positive that I'd burst into tears if I didn't finally spot Draco and Scorpius in the window of the joke shop aforementioned, called Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Taking a deep breath, I step back into the street, and make my way over to the store.

My blood was boiling. What happened to the girl who would tell her nephew to stand up to people who felt it their duty to condemn us for mistakes our parents have made, and already paid the price for? What happened to the girl who would tell her nephew to defend for himself, stick up for his name, and not apologise? Foolishly, I apologised. I didn't stand up for myself, or my name. I allowed a stranger, a nasty stranger, to look down on me and make me feel inadequate and weak.

 _She doesn't exist,_ that dreaded voice in my mind taunted. _She never did. You created her. You made her up so that you felt better about your sad, little life. You're the girl who has nightmares every single time you close your eyes. You're the girl who's been locked up in her tower for ten years. You're the girl with Death Eaters for parents, and a brother with the Dark Mark, and an Aunt who not only was the Dark Lord's lapdog, but resembles you more than your own mother does._

Suddenly, the wand in my pocket felt incredibly heavy, almost as though it were made of lead, and the air from my lungs was immediately knocked out.

Absentmindedly, I outstretched a hand for the door handle, and froze. I was torn between wanting to step inside, and see my brother, and wanting to remain by myself. Customers and visitors were beginning to grow impatient, waiting on both sides of the door, for me to make the first move. Somebody behind me sighed, and instead I stepped to the left, letting them bustle inside. I stood with my back to the wall, and screwed my eyes shut. Taking deep breaths, I told myself over and over in mind that I was being ridiculous. I should have known what to expect. All this hostility shouldn't have come as a shock.

Opening my eyes as I exhale, my eyesight is momentarily distracted by the sight of a little boy standing across from me on the opposite pavement, his vision completely transfixed on me. I try a smile, and instead he furrows his eyebrows. He tugs on his mother's sleeve. The stout woman had succumbed to a brightly coloured bulletin board, advertising brand new cauldrons for the half the price, and she seemed to be slightly annoyed with her son for demanding her attention. He pointed over at me, and before I could see the mother's reaction to a Malfoy wandering the streets of London, especially one poised and armed with a wand too, I hurried inside the joke shop.

Compared to the hustle of the last minute shoppers outside, I had expected Weasley's Wizard Wheezes to be some kind of refuge. I was sorely mistaken. Children were squealing with delight and horror alike, left, right and centre. Jars were smashing, strange animal noises could be heard echoing around the room, and hushed whispers were only magnified in the not-so-secluded corners.

I thought I knew where Draco and Scorpius were, but they had moved since the last time I'd laid eyes on them, so it took me a while to seek them out. However, we were the only three platinum blondes in the building, almost certainly in the whole of Diagon Alley, and they were not difficult to find.

Scorpius was animatedly discussing something with a dark-haired boy his own age, the pair seemingly close. I smiled. Draco was beside him, looking slightly less at ease. I noticed that he was trying to make small talk with a slender red-haired woman beside him. Unsuccessfully. He appeared almost uncomfortable, guilty even.

Making my way over to them, Draco spotted me, and breathed a sigh of alleviation, which he quickly disguised as a gasp. He hugged me, a little too tightly, so I took it as a sign of gratitude. "Ah, there she is! Did you manage to find some robes?"

I held the bag up as proof.

"That's good. Very good. They were alright to you, weren't they? I know what the Malkin twins can be like, a little tactless sometimes . . . "

"They were fine. Mallory didn't stop chirping on about his new Beagle," I lied, thin lipped, a false beam plastered to my face. I wasn't going to tell Draco about the awful treatment I'd been receiving all day. He doesn't need to hear about it - he's probably been experiencing the same thing ever since father was first outed as a Death Eater.

Draco, to my relief, believed me. He grinned. "Oh, there's someone here you'd probably like to meet. Cassie, this is . . . "

I look over at the woman across from us, and my mouth hangs open immediately. She had shoulder-length hair, the colour of autumn leaves, and eyes that resembled little hazelnuts. I knew for a fact she was thirty-nine years of age, but instead looked as though she was merely thirty, perhaps even younger. She had the kinds of subtle lines in her face that made me suspect she smiled and laughed a lot. I liked that about her. I also liked that she wasn't dressed like the other witches around us, in dreadful, traditional robes. Instead she had on a thin burgundy t-shirt with a pair of faded dungarees, and canvas trainers on her feet.

Ginny Weasley smiled politely at me, and I could hardly believe my own eyes. Wasn't it only twenty days ago that I received her jersey? Had I have known back then that I would be inches from my absolute favourite Quidditch player, and feminist icon, then I would have somehow convinced myself that I was delusional.

"Merlin, you're Ginny Weasley," I mutter, unable to tear my eyes away from her, afraid to blink and she disappears.

She chuckles, slightly, glancing between me and Draco. "I never knew you had a daughter too, Draco," she remarks, gesturing between us.

As I shake my head, preparing to correct her, Draco cuts in, placing a hand on my shoulder. "She was born whilst I was on trial, you see. Astoria didn't want her to grow up in the limelight, especially with sharp-tongued reporters like Rita Skeeter sniffing around, searching high and low for anything that could drag our name further through the dirt."

What was happening? Why was Draco telling her that I was his daughter? I didn't, for the life of me, know what the devil he was playing at, but to prevent myself causing a scene, I held my tongue.

"That's understandable," Ginny nods, smiling softly, as though she pitied me. "I can't believe we didn't know you existed. That nobody did. Why the reveal now, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Cassie turned sixteen a couple of weeks back. I felt that living behind closed doors was beginning to become unhealthy for her, and I knew Astoria would agree with me. Isn't that right, dear?" Draco lied, turning to me with such a believable, fatherly adulation in his expression and tone, that we'd look like awful people if I gave him away now.

"Yes, _dad,_ " I agree, surprising myself with how easy it was to call Draco that. I turned back to Ginny, and decided to change the topic, before any more questions could be asked. "Me and you have the same birthday, did you know that?"

"I can't say I knew you existed until twenty seconds ago, let alone we shared a birthday. However, I'll bare that in mind for next year," she tells me, tapping her head as though she was physically locking that information inside. "Do you attend Hogwarts, then? Well, of course you do. My eldest son is in that year, do you know him?"

I shake my head. "I start Hogwarts tomorrow. I don't know anybody there, besides Scorpius of course . . . _my brother._ "

"Really? You're only just starting? Merlin, you're in for a shock. What are you most looking forward to?"

"Honestly? Quidditch."

Ginny beams at this. "I knew I liked you," she smirks, making my insides stir, so that it felt as though somebody had released a whole flock of butterflies into my stomach. "What position?"

"Chaser. Scorpius is a pretty mean Keeper, but he won't try out."

Too lost in his conversation with the dark haired boy, my nephew doesn't realise his name came up in discussion. Ginny looks over at him, and folds her arms. "Today is just full of revelations. Scorpius, what's this I hear about you playing Quidditch with your sister?"

Scorpius hears that, and goes bright red. He turns to face Ginny, and I'm puzzled as to why he doesn't seem starstruck. I'm also confused as to why he doesn't question the sudden switch in labels from _aunt_ to _sister_. Have the pair of them concocted this lie behind my back? "It's only for fun. I'm not being serious," he sighs, turning to glower at me. I shrug, unaware of what I've done wrong.

"Your sister says you're quite good though."

"My sister alsohasn't been allowed outside in ten years. I wouldn't take everything she says as the gospel truth."

Ginny looks over at me, with knitted eyebrows, trying to work out if Scorpius was joking or not. I merely hit him in the arm. Draco says both of our names, reminding us we're in a public place, and Scorpius refrains from retaliating. I realise with a jolt that we do truly appear like a family; me and Scorpius siblings, with Draco as our father. Turning back to Ginny, he smiles, and says that we have to go and finish up our shop. Both Scorpius and I groan simultaneously, neither of us wanting to leave just yet. Draco clearly wanted to avoid any uncomfortable questions, but I wasn't done asking mine.

"Hold on a second, Cassie said she doesn't know anybody from her year. I can help with that. That dashing young man right there is Albus my son, though I suspect your brother has told you about him." He certainly has not. Albus looked exactly like his father, the famous Harry Potter. He had dark, almost jet black hair, with piercing green eyes. "My eldest should be around here somewhere - James!"

A few moments later, a tall boy with inky black hair, and cheekbones that could have cut glass, wandered around the corner, a grin that hinted at a certain mischievousness plastered across his face. He was wearing a dark green plaid shirt, and his hazel eyes were bright and sparkling with the same roguishness his smirk held, and a pair of browline glasses placed across the bridge of his nose, making him all the more handsome. Subconsciously, my insides twisted, and I bit my lip. Merlin, he was the best looking boy I'd ever seen, though in fairness, I haven't seen many.

As he approached us, I began to notice little details, such as the thin, leather band around his wrist, or the way the corner of his lip curved up, or the shadow cast on his collar bone of a small chain around his neck. I watched as he ruffled my nephew's hair, as though he knew him, and that's when it struck me; _he did._ This boy Scorpius was talking with, laughing with, must be Ginny's son, and the brother of this chiselled creation. How could he keep such a vital piece of information from me?

"Jamie, this is Cassie, she's Scorpius's sister," Ginny informs him, with enthusiasm in her voice. "She's starting Hogwarts tomorrow."

James, or Jamie, knits his eyebrows together, his dark brown eyes roaming over me, making me feel as though I were under a microscope. "Sister?" he asks, cocking his head to the side. He didn't seem to be accusatory, or judgemental. He was curious, and that was a trait we both shared. "Well, Draco, I never knew you had a daughter too. I can see the resemblance."

Draco grazes a thumb under my chin, affectionately. It's odd for people to comment on how Draco and I look similar, due to the first physical association somebody makes when they see me is that of Aunt Bellatrix. I can tell Draco appreciates the comment, as it's so rare we ever hear it, even from our own parents. "Me and Scorpius did a good job of keeping you a secret, it seems," he says, and I detect almost a touch of sadness in his voice. I doubt the others hear it.

"I can't say that I'm disappointed the secret is finally out," James says, flashing me a smile. It takes all I have to not swoon, as I am forced to remind myself I don't live in an eighteenth century Jane Austen novel. "Did you say she was starting school, mum?"

Ginny nodded, as she crossed her arms and chewed on her thumb, smirking, her eyes flitting between me and her son.

"What year are you joining?" James asks, choosing this particular second to run his slender fingers through the dark, unruly locks atop his head.

Momentarily, I lost all power of speech, and it was only when Draco coughed slightly that I gathered what he had said. Draco coughed ever so subtlety as to not become apparent that he was pulling me away from a daydream which involved me and James on a sandy beach somewhere, laughing and holding hands, as he leaned in to kiss - no, I was snapped out of it before I knew what was going to happen next. Before I imagined his lips on mine.

"Oh, I'm joining the Sixth Year," I answer, careful not to allow a blush to creep up onto my cheeks. "A little late I know, but I'm afraid that I'm too tall for the First Year's beds."

James' face lit up, and he laughed, causing me to become both ecstatic, and curious as to how, and why, I managed to make him do that.

"Yes, I'm afraid you are too tall. It's not all bad - we'll be in the same year," he tells me, his hazel eyes, which I remarked look exactly like his mother's, twinkled.

"Well, I suppose that makes up for the beds," I tease, the corners of my mouth tugging into an unpreventable smile.

Out of the corner of my eye Scorpius and his dark-haired friend mime throwing up into their hands. I nudge Scorpius, and he snickers. Draco sighs, and takes this as our cue to leave. However, I was rather happy to stay. I protest slightly, pleading with my eyes. Draco is persistent, but I don't understand why he wants to leave so soon. I'm about to tell him that I can meet up with him later, if he's so desperate to continue on with his errands, when I spot Teddy and his girlfriend, Victoire, enter the shop. Recognition casts across their expressions, and immediately I remember that I told them I was Draco's sister, not his daughter, as the man in question had decided I should say instead. I grab Draco's elbow, and in a low voice I try to inform him of a possibly messy situation that could enfold, as quickly as I could manage, without being heard.

"That's Aunt Nymphadora's son over there, and his girlfriend. I may have let them know I was your sister, so we best do something about it fast, before they let the cat out of the bag," I mutter, well, ramble really. Draco seems to understand, as his eyes widen, and his eyes scan the room for the pair. Then he nods back to me, and excuses himself from the current conversation.

"It's been lovely seeing you again, Ginny, and your sons, but I spot young Edward over there, and I'd very much like to meet him," Draco told them, without fault, as though he had no other agenda than meeting a relative.

Ginny smiles, and lets him go. I watch, eagerly, as Draco crosses the room, and leads the two into a corner of the shop that was obstructed from my view. I turn my attention back to the two Potters, who I see are both looking at me, with curiosity.

"Do you know who that was?" Ginny asks me. Clearly she assumes that I'd never met him before, due to the estrangement of my mother and my aunt. Half an hour ago, she would have been correct in believing so.

"That's my sec - third cousin, Teddy Lupin, isn't it?" I reply, mentally tracing my finger along the family tree in Malfoy Manor, and imagining I was a generation below. Both Ginny and James appear stunned that I could possibly know this, having being a prisoner in my own home for the past ten years. "I recognise him from the family tree," I point out, hastily, thinking that whatever Draco is doing behind the shelves could result in Teddy forgetting ever meeting me.

"I can't imagine what it must be like to be meeting strangers who claim to be your fourth cousin twice removed and all that malarkey," Ginny says, shaking her head. James nods in agreement.

"Neither can I, and I think our family is the only that's bigger than yours," he adds, grinning. I laugh too, without restraint.

"It's odd, I must admit," I tell them, truthfully. "Though - and you of all families must understand this - it's hard to meet people and them _not_ be distantly related, you know? Every Pureblood family in the whole of England, I believe, is related to the Malfoy's and the Black's, including both the Weasley's and the Potter's."

As I pointed this out, I couldn't help but realise that this boy I found undeniably attractive, was indeed a distant cousin along the bloodlines, though admittedly too far along to be considered part of the family. It was still strange, mind.

Before either one of us could say another word, Draco appeared again, with Victoire and Teddy in tow. Victoire was looking rather misty eyed, quite literally, in the sense that her eyes had clouded over, though the shroud cleared as she approached closer.

"Look, Teddy, this must be Cassiopeia, Draco's daughter!" Victoire cried, pointing at me as though there were some other platinum blonde-haired girl in the shop. "She's your second cousin or something like that, isn't she?"

"Third," Teddy corrects, with a small smile. I notice that the way he was looking at me had not changed from before, a combination of sadness and pity lingering in his cobalt blue eyes. I wonder if Draco had cleared his memory, or not. Something tells me he hadn't.

Victoire steps closer to me, narrowing her eyes, as she scrutinises my every feature, and I resist the urge to flap the judgemental smirk across her face. I'd forgotten how infuriating she could be.

"Merlin, you look just like your Great Aunt Bellatrix," she seethes, reaching out to wrap a bony finger around a curl. "It's astonishing really. The cheekbones, the pout, the hair."

"Victoire, is that necessary?" Ginny sighs, placing a hand on her hip, in a motherly fashion.

"Sorry auntie, but have you seen her! I mean, you fought Bellatrix in the war, isn't the resemblance shocking?" James was right; their family is monumental.

No sooner had the words spilled from Victoire's peachy lips, was Ginny looking at me in a different light. Her eyes were roaming across my face, and I could tell she was piecing together what parts I shared with that of Aunt Bella. Merlin, and I thought being merely a Malfoy was awful. Sensing my discomfort at the comparison, Draco took my hand, and collected Scorpius from behind a shelf advertising _Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder._

"We really must be off now, it was splendid seeing you all - especially you Teddy. Tell your mother I said hello, though I doubt she'd want to hear from us," Draco explained, his voice trailing off a little towards the end. Then he picked up, and smiled at Albus, who had come to wave us off too. "You're more than welcome at ours again in the holidays, Albus."

Albus nodded, though he was acknowledging me for the first time, with furrowed eyebrows. I tried a smile, though it did nothing to change his expression.

"I'll see you at the train station tomorrow, won't I Cassie?" James asked me, reaching out to grab my wrist, as though afraid if he left the question too late, he won't get an answer. A bit of a foolish question, I must say, but I appreciate it all the same. Almost sheepishly, he glances down at his hand on my wrist, as I do, and he retracts, and I swear I can see a hint of a blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Unless you know of a different way to get to Hogwarts," I reply, with a smirk.

"I've heard a flying car does the trick," Ginny jokes, though by the mischievous glint in her eyes, I am forced to believe that it's anything but a joke.

With that, we leave the shop, and I find that for the rest of the day, and indeed into the early hours of the next day, I can't think of anything else but James Potter II, and that heartbreaking smile of his.


	9. A Very Black Cat

**A.N: Thank you all** **for waiting ever so patiently for this instalment, I know I'm the actual worst when it comes to regular updates. I really hope you like this new chapter, as it took a lot to write.**

I hadn't had much sleep that night, due to a sickening mixture of anxiety and electricity buzzing through my brain. My stomach was churning, and my fingertips were numb. I decided that I should read something, in the hope that the words were going to make my eyes drop, and my mind switch off. Fortunately, the trick worked, and I fell asleep in the early hours of the morning, the light still switched on, and the book spawned across my chest so that a few pages have been crumpled and folded slightly.

At first I believe my dream to be pleasant. It involved James, admittedly he was shirtless, and he had ridden hundreds of miles on a magnificent white stallion, just so he could confess his undying love for me. Cliché, I know, but my originality had been burnt out due to exhaustion, and I would have settled for anything as long as it included a shirtless James Potter II.

However, that did not last long.

Even as I was dreaming I kept telling myself how odd it was that I wasn't seeing blood, or hearing screams, or witnessing something inexplicably gory for a change. I guess I spoke too soon, as immediately all images of James on his galloping steed evaporated from my mind, and instead were replaced by my usual horrific, blood-stained nightmares.

I was walking, unscathed and untouched, once again, through what could only be described as a battle. Nothing was different, besides the fact that for the first time since having these dreams, I noticed people. These people, struggling and brawling all around me, were young. Strikingly young. Many of the figures I believed were younger than I. It was awful, as I tore my eyes away from body after body, seeing that these bodies, were in fact children. It was as though a veil had been peeled back, and I was finally allowed to see what was underneath. Except I didn't want to see. I wanted to rip my eyes out of my skull as to cease these images.

As I feel Draco urgently shake me awake, the last thing I hear is a bloodcurdling cackle, and my eyes are open.

It's still pitch black outside my bedroom window. I say my room, though it isn't my house, because it might as well be. Draco and Astoria bought a house with plenty of rooms, as to accommodate their bounty of children they had planned to have. However, fortune favours a chosen few, and nobody seemed to want to answer poor Astoria's prayers. This left two rooms too many, and they remained barren. Scorpius had his, and I was the new owner of the room once belonging to the baby who never came.

Looking up at Draco, I was at a loss of breath, and every time I blinked, I was plagued by the sight of the children's bodies, over and over.

"Merlin, are you alright?" he asked, caressing my cheek, and finding my face sticky with beads of sweat. "You've been screaming 'Bloody Murder' for the past five minutes."

Ragged breathing prevented an answer from spilling over my lips, however Draco knew what I was going to say. "It's the nightmares again," he sighed, a grave expression casting over his face. "I wish there was something we could do."

"Sleeping draughts don't work, Io's herbal concessions don't work, counting sheep doesn't work," I list, absentmindedly. "It's been sixteen years and nothing has bloody worked, I've accepted that. Please Draco, when are you going to accept it too?"

Draco gave me a fatherly sort of smile that sometimes reminds me that he is indeed a lot older than me, and he has done a damn sight better job of raising me than my own father has. "I can't help it if I hate seeing you in distress. I remember when you were just a baby, and the nightmares would wake you, and prevent you from ever closing your eyes again. Now, it's a Hercules task in itself to try and wake you."

"I'm only making up for lost time. Is it time to get ready yet?" I ask, wiping the sleep from my eyes, willing with all my might that he'd say no.

He shakes his head, and gets up off of my bed, whilst I silently thank the early hours, over and over. I notice that he too is still clad in his pyjamas. "No, we've got a few hours yet. Come, you can sleep in my room until we have to get up," he suggests, extending a hand for me.

I beam up at him. "Just like when I was little."

"Exactly. I'd ask Scorpius to join us, but I'm afraid he believes himself to be too grown up and mature to share a bed with his father and auntie."

I laugh, and gladly get up and follow Draco into his room. The curtains are still drawn, and the lights were turned off. I clambered into bed, and pulled the sheets up to my chin. The weight of the bed shifted as my brother joined me, and then silence ensued. It was nice, to be so peaceful after the night I'd had. The cotton seemed to soothe my boiling skin, and the cool air that leaked in through the window cleared my airwaves.

"Draco, why must I lie and say I'm your daughter?" I finally say.

"You what people think of father. Your reception at that school will be far better if you tell them I'm your father instead, and pretend to be Scorpius's sister. The name Malfoy tends to leave a sour taste in people's mouths, I find that father's gives them something to throw up."

"It doesn't make sense though. People aren't going to understand why it's taken me five years to attend Hogwarts, whereas Scorpius was accepted first try."

"I've thought about that. Professor McGonagall and the other teachers have agreed to stand by the story you were not permitted to attend, due to father's, and admittedly my own, convictions at the time, and the banning of all those affiliated with Death Eaters from school, meant that your name was crossed off the list. Fortunately, the _Pardoned Generation Act_ passed by Kinglsey Shacklebolt in 2016, allowed Scorpius to attend. It's only now you're being acknowledged - by the school I mean."

"So I'm an afterthought?"

"Essentially you are, Cass. In their eyes anyway."

I mull this over in my mind, thinking about the reactions I received from people yesterday.

"They're not going to treat me much better at school are they," I ask in a quiet kind of voice.

Draco doesn't answer for a short while, and I know what he's going to say even before he opens his mouth.

"I'm sure you know that Scorpius struggled when he first got there," he told me, slowly. "I can't imagine that it'll be a breeze for you either. Don't let that put you off, though. Don't let it frighten you."

"Trust me Draco, I'm not frightened. Far from it, I'm excited if anything. I know how to handle the disapproving tuts and the snide comments."

Draco chuckled, bringing a grin to my face. "Oh I'm not worried about you, I'm worried for them. I pity the boy who pulls your pigtails."

"I can't promise anything," I explain, mischievously.

"I wouldn't expect anything less," he sighs, and then adds; "Don't feel as though you owe mother and father anything, Cass."

Furrowing my eyebrows, I ask what he means by that. It was rather an odd thing to say. Out of the blue too.

"Just because father has decided who you are to spend the remainder of your life with, does not mean you aren't free to choose yourself."

It's takes me a while to understand quite what he was trying to say, until it hits me like a tonne of bricks. I smirk. "What are you implying?" I can tell that it's quite uncomfortable for him to say what's weighing on his mind, but I force it out of him all the same.

"I saw how you were looking at James earlier," he mutters. "And I saw how he looked at you. All I'm saying is that you're going to be the new girl at school, and when the shock of your name is old news, they'll all have noticed that you're a beautiful girl, with many redeeming qualities."

"And you're suggesting I pursue those who pursue me?"

"Of course not. I'd rather you pursue nothing but your ambitions and education, but I am your older brother. It's my job to make sure boys aren't too close to you," he informs me, and I could hear the adoration in his voice. "However, if there's somebody who turns your head, you're not to be forgiven for forgetting about Rhys Selwyn."

"Is this your official approval of James?" I tease.

"I wouldn't call it that. But I will say this about him; if he's anything like his father, than he'll be too noble for his own good, and if he's like his mother, than he wouldn't have a bad bone in his body. If he's like them both, then I must say you're the only one I know able to match him."

I drift off with a beam plastered across my face without another word, Draco's words reverberating around my brain, making me feel ten times lighter.

When I next awake, I awake for good.

Pulling on the first things I could salvage, atop of the mountain of clothes I had somehow managed to squeeze inside of my trunk, I bound down the stairs, to see a half asleep Scorpius. He was shovelling corn flakes into his mouth, at a sloth-like pace, his head occasionally jilting, as his eyes drooped every now and then. I chuckled, and began to boil the kettle. The noise from the machine, as steam erupted out of the spout, was enough to jolt Scorpius back into reality, dropping his spoon into the milk with a clatter.

"Morning, sleepyhead," I tease, as I take the seat next to him.

He grimaces at my positivity, and rubs his eyes. "How is it you're so chirpy this morning? You're usually the moody one this early."

I shrug. "I think it's all the excitement. First day jitters, and all."

Scorpius snorts into his cereal, shaking his head with a sort of disbelief. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen anybody so happy to go to school."

Leaning close to him, with a beam spread across my cheeks, I whisper into his ear; "Hogwarts isn't just any old school though, is it?" I ruffle his hair, downing my mug of tea in one, and walk back into the kitchen to make myself some toast. I hear somebody walk through the doorway, and as I turn around, assuming it's Scorpius with his dirty bowl, I'm met with the sight of my brother holding a gorgeous, jet black cat, purring softly in his arms.

A beam instantly erupts onto my face, and I reach out to stroke and pet the animal. This cat, this velvety, magnificent creature, was like putty in my hands. He - I'm certain it's a he - began to rub his cheek against my palm, his whiskers delicately brushing against my skin. Draco handed him over to me, which took me a little by surprise, but I welcomed the cat into my arms all the same, holding him close as the silky pads of his paws roamed my torso. Standing on his hind legs, he rubbed his tiny little nose with mine, which made me laugh, and Draco.

"Where did you find him?" I asked, not wanting to tear my eyes away from the ball of fluff in my hands.

"At _Magical Menagerie_ 's yesterday," he replies, smirking. "He's yours. Scorpius and I thought it a good idea you take a pet with you to school."

"That way at least you know you'll have one friend there," Scorpius adds, slumping into the kitchen with half-shut eyes, dragging his feet behind him.

I pout at him, in a teasing sort of way. "Aw, and here I was hoping I'd have you to count on."

"I think what Scorpius meant to say is what are you naming him?"

I gaze thoughtfully at the cat, pondering on what I could possibly call him. One of my many flaws is that I can't make a decision, so when it comes to matters such as naming things, I'm a complete wreck, usually ending up with one name I rather like, and six separate middle names of ones I also rather liked. However, the touch of mischievousness in his metallic grey eyes, and the sheen of his inky black hair meant that there was only ever one name suitable for him. As he tried to jump free from my hands to salvage a biscuit from the jar on the table side, I smirked, knowing he'd fit it well.

"Well, he's got black hair, not white, so he must be a Black, and he seems a rebellious one doesn't he? So, I'm going to have to call him Padfoot."

Scorpius and Draco appear stunned, although it could just have been that Scorpius chose that moment to look out the window and witness sunlight for the first time that morning. Of course my choice of Padfoot, wasn't just any old choice pulled from the top of my brain, oh no. I picked it because of it's connotations with my late second cousin, Sirius Black, and the nickname he garnered whilst at school. Draco coughed, cottoning on immediately, though quickly covered his shocked expression with one of feigned support.

"Are you sure, Cass? I mean, mother and father won't like it."

"They don't like a great deal of things, Draco. They don't like the fact I'm going to Hogwarts, but that's not going to stop me."

Draco kissed the top of my head, and ruffled the fur of my new pet, Padfoot. "No, I didn't think it would."

After we had hauled Scorpius into the shower, who did not go quietly, as we could distinctly hear him grumbling up the stairs to himself, Draco suggested I begin to pack.

"Oh, I already have," I answer, turning may attention back to the cat now sat in my lap. "And I'm all dressed, all washed, brushed my teeth and fed. Just waiting on you two now. Or should I say misery-guts upstairs."

To say that Draco looked surprised was an understatement. He looked positively gobsmacked. He made a whole comical routine out of checking my temperature and my pulse, with an expression of the utmost concern sprawled across his face. "What have you done with my little sister?" he whispered, then when he couldn't hold it in any more, broke out into a large smile, which stretched from earlobe to earlobe.

It was comforting, to see him smile like this. It had been a long time until I'd seen him truly smile, and it was only when he was in the company of Astoria, or Scorpius. I was too young to understand the immense pressure that weighed on him, what effect the ink on his wrist had on him, after all these years. I'm told that it never disappears; the Dark Mark or the guilt. Even now the regret and pain can occasionally take ahold of him, and drags him back down. Sometimes it's too much for him, and he shuts himself away from the rest of us. Astoria was the only one who knew how to lift the burden from him, at least sharing half the load, so that he didn't feel quite so miserable. Now she's gone, and I knew that it meant Draco didn't only lose his wife and his best friend, but he'd lost his anchor.

I kiss him on the cheek, and ruffle his platinum hair, which matches mine, though admittedly I had the longer locks. He smirks, as he runs his bony fingers through his hair, in an attempt to sculpt them back into the neat style he had previously crafted. I look at him, and see the boy from the old school photos, not my forty year old brother. He was handsome then, and still is now, with sculpted cheekbones and captivating silver eyes. Mother tells me that once upon a time father looked just like this, striking and fine, and if you hold pictures of the pair next to each other, they could be mistaken as brothers. I personally couldn't imagine it. Father was a frail man, with waxy skin, lacklustre hair that had been grey for a while now, and cold, sullen eyes.

"Who do you think I look like?" I ask him, scratching behind Padfoot's ear, as gesture he seemed to appreciate immensely, purring generously.

Draco hesitates for a second, squinting slightly, as though he was taking into account that my prominent cheekbones, unruly locks - though mine were as fair as hers were dark, long eyelashes and salient jawline all resembled Aunt Bellatrix dreadfully, but couldn't quite say it aloud. He knew it grated on me when people would tell me that I was the spitting image of the 'great' Bellatrix Lestrange. He'd been the one to assure me when I was a young girl that I was indeed his sister, and the daughter of Narcissa Malfoy, and that Bellatrix couldn't possibly be my mother, as she had died six years previously.

"You're original, Cass, you don't look like anybody else."

I frown. "You're a terrible liar. I know who I look like," I sigh.

"You know I can't lie to you," he mutters, tucking a loose wave behind my ear. "You're classically elegant as all Black's are. I don't have that, Scorpius doesn't have that. We're Malfoy's through and through. You do though. But do you know who else had the waves, chiselled features and silver eyes? Sirius Black. What is it mother says? ' _The vestige of aristocratic beauty is a natural attribute passed down through the Black bloodline_ '. You take after mother's side of the family. That means Andromeda, Sirius, _and_ Bellatrix. That doesn't mean you can't be your own person."

He always knew what to say. Always.

The drive to the train station is filled with chatter. Scorpius has perked up a bit now, and he is eager to fill me in on everything about Hogwarts, from advice on which bed to pick in the dorm rooms, to which corridors to avoid due to the infamous poltergeist Peeves. However, there's one thing he's not saying that I'm itching to point out.

"Why did I never know you were best friends with Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley's son?" I inquire, with a raised voice, and raised eyebrow.

Scorpius shrugs. "I don't know. I guess I didn't want grandma and grandad to find out."

"And you thought I'd tell them?"

He shrugs again. Merlin, when did he become such a teenager?

The talk begins to diminish as we edge closer to the city, and comes to a complete grounding halt when the spires to King's Cross Station becomes visible. Nobody wanted to say anything, in the belief we'd say the wrong thing. It was ridiculous really, as we'd be spending Halloween together, which was in less than two months.

Draco wants to push my trolley for him, but I insist on doing it myself, telling him that it's a huge milestone; pushing my own trolley as I take my first steps to school. He smiles, though it's partially forced, and gives me free reign. Padfoot is curled up, atop of my trunks, and watching the world zoom past him out of his wide, inquisitive grey eyes. It starts to become easier to spot who were other students from the school, as they too were hauling large carts brimming with school supplies and an assortment of weird and wonderful pets, from toads to snowy owls. Muggles passing by cast each of us odd glances, a gesture I was accustomed to by now.

The wizarding families who streamed in past us were eager to get as far away from us as possible. I could hear them whispering obscene things, referring to the shade of our hair. I watched as Draco, subconsciously, tugged at his jacket sleeve, as though he feared it would roll up any second now and reveal his scar in the shape of a skull and snake to the platforms of people.

We arrived on Platform Nine, and I checked the ticket in my hand. Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. How was that possible? I may be new to the outside world, but I was positive that this wasn't how train stations worked. I look over to both Draco and Scorpius, but the pair of them don't seem to appear at all confused or concerned with the ticket as I was. Instead, they turned their attention to a rather plain looking brick wall, and directed me over to it. Furrowing my eyebrows, I asked why we were staring at this empty wall, when a twelve year old and his mother disappeared into it. I shrieked, alerting a few of the other Muggles around us, and clapped a hand to my lips.

"What the bloody hell?" I hiss, blinking a few times over and over, afraid that they were playing tricks on me. However, as though to prive a point, another young witch runs in past me, and I flinch again. "You;re kidding? That's how we get in?"

Scorpius nods, enthusiastically. "It's amazing isn't it!"

I shake my head, out of disbelief. "You went into great lengths about the size of the pumpkins in the greenhouses, but forgot to mention that we had to dive head first into a _bloody_ _brick wall_ to get to school?"

My nephew snickers. "Yeah, it might have slipped my mind," he chuckles. "But if this is going to freak you out Cass, then you're in for a shock when you arrive at Hogwarts."

Something about his tone of voice told me that all those years spent locked away inside my tower, where I'd been teaching myself ancient spells, reassuring myself that I was a witch, hadn't prepared me for what being a witch actually entailed, beginning with literally running at walls.


	10. Unsavoury Newspaper Articles

**A.N: I appreciate that this has taken months to update, and I wouldn't be surprised if everybody has gotten bored of waiting. I'd lost all inspiration for this story up until a few days ago. I hope that this chapter was worth waiting for! Please tell me what you think! Thank you!**

What greeted me the other side of the platform wall was a similar scene to that in Diagon Alley. Witches and wizards bustling around, gripping onto their children with a sense of urgency and pride, as they pushed around their trolleys ladened with suitcases and animals and other intriguing items that Cassie recognised from many of the wizarding shops she had seen. Many parents were crying, many hugging their children as though this was their last goodbye. None of the families seemed familiar, yet many regarded the sight of three icy blondes with loathing and disgust.

However, few children recognised Scorpius, and gave him a small smile or nod, to which Scorpius would gladly reciprocate.

"See Cassie, not _everyone_ hates us," Scorpius joked, as a particularly pretty brunette with wide doe eyes gave him a shy wave.

I nudged my nephew, smirking. "How many more secrets are you going to keep from me, huh?" I exclaimed. "That girl definitely likes you."

Scorpius shrugged it off, nonchalantly. "She's nice, I suppose. Slytherin." The inclusion of the girl's house was clearly an important factor for him, though I failed to see what it had to do with possible romantic partners. Both of us growing up Malfoy's, it was instilled in us from early ages that blood, status, and house was everything - though I thought we had both ignored Lucius Malfoy's 'words of warning'.

"But no Rose Weasley," I whisper into his ear, causing a slight tinge of pink to flush across his cheeks.

"What are you two muttering about?" Draco asks from behind us.

Scorpius and I glance at each other, his eyes wide, as he reminded me silently of the promise I made to keep his secret. "I was just asking him if I could sit with him on the train, and he's worried that I'm going to cramp his style."

Draco chuckles, shaking his head. "Let your _sister_ sit with you, or else I'll insist on boarding too."

Looking around me, I can see people keeping their distance, and muttering things to one another about us. I was never going to get used to the whispers, but I understood the desire. Here stood three Malfoy's, one that people weren't even aware existed; tongues were bound to be sent wagging. Just because I understood, however, didn't mean I liked the attention at all. On the contrary, I wanted it to cease, and to fade into the beige bricks behind me. Scorpius took it all in his stride, brushing off all the nasty sneers and stares.

Suddenly, I could hear smalls meows coming from my trolley, and shining, silvery-grey eyes peered over my trunk. Smiling, I reached out a hand for Padfoot to sniff, and he nuzzled me gently. I picked the cat up, and he perched his head on my shoulder, atop of my denim jacket, purring softly.

"I think he's taken to me," I say happily, as Scorpius reaches over to stroke Padfoot's back. His fur is charcoal black, and as soft as silk.

As we fawn over the cat, I hear footsteps approaching us. Looking to the side of us, I spot three children of different ages pushing trolleys, followed in tow by none other than Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter. He's every bit as impressive as you'd imagine the saviour of the wizarding world to be, with dark, unruly locks and a firm build. He was holding his wife's hand, and I could sense the apprehension he had in coming over to us. Clearly, twenty-two years weren't enough time for Draco and Harry to iron out their differences and forgive one another. Ginny, however, smiles warmly at me.

The three children with them I could only assume were theirs, having already met the two sons. Both looked strikingly like their father, whilst the youngest, a red-haired girl of perhaps twelve, looked very much like her mother. Albus gave Scorpius a weak grin, and I could tell that it was his first grin in weeks. James was just as dashing as he had been yesterday, if not more so. He grins at me, and I can't help but be taken aback by his positivity at meeting us, not whilst his father seemed so uncomfortable.

"Thought we'd pop over and say hi, before the the kids have to go," Ginny says, kindly.

Harry looks at me, with a furrowed brow. "Malfoy, this must be your mysterious daughter Ginny and Jamie were gushing about yesterday."

Draco smiles icily. Clearly he wasn't all that comfortable being around Harry yet, the guilt still not gone. "It is. Cassiopeia, say hello."

I grin, slightly dumbstruck. I extend my spare hand to him, which he takes, tensely.

"It's just Cassie," I say. Harry just nods, rather tight-lipped.

"Who's this?" Ginny asks, her eyes lighting up as she notices the cat resting in my arms. "I've got a bit of a soft spot for animals, you see. Lily too."

I grin, and hold out my new pet for Ginny to hold. Her red-haired daughter, Lily, tenderly watched as I passed the cat over. "His name is Padfoot," I say, and then immediately regret it. Harry turns a shade whiter, and Ginny gulps. Clasping a hand over my mouth, I gasp. "Oh Merlin, I don't mean to be insensitive. Sirius he is . . . was a relative, and a somewhat hero of mine, and in a family like ours there's not many people to look up to. What I'm trying to say is that it's people like him that make me not so ashamed to be a Malfoy and a Black."

At first I'm afraid that I've put my foot in it, and Ginny and Harry will whisk their brood away, leaving us in the dirt. Harry is speechless, and all colour seems to have drained out of him.

"He'd be flattered, I think, that he's managed to influence a whole new generation of Malfoy's," Ginny remarks instead, beaming. "And he'd find it amusing that a _cat_ was named after him."

I smirk. Ginny scratches Padfoot behind the ears, and he starts to purr affectionately. The youngest Potter looks up at the cat with wide eyes, and reaches out an eager hand to stroke him. She giggles as Padfoot starts to rub his cheek against her palm. He's clearly taken a liking to the smiling redhead.

"I was wondering if you wanted to stay with us in the October holidays, Scorpius?" Albus inquires, turning to his best friend.

Harry's eyes widen, and he places a hand on Albus' shoulder. "Shouldn't you have asked me and your mum first, Al?"

"Oh, I said he could," Ginny said, offhandedly, throwing it off. Harry seems somewhat surprised at his wife's sly antics, whilst Albus doesn't meet his eyes, instead choosing to look at us instead. I sensed some unresolved tension between the father and son, and I could see that Scorpius had picked up on it too.

"How's about it, Scorpius?" Albus asks, shrugging off his father's hand.

My nephew grins at his friend, and then up at Draco, who also appears to be very uneasy, and almost unwilling to say yes.

"He'd love to," I finally say, when nobody says anything. I ruffle Scorpius' hair, beaming down at my pretend-brother, who beams back at me.

"Brilliant," exclaimed Ginny, who ignored her husband's attempt to interrupt her, and rather reluctantly handed me back Padfoot. "We'll send an owl, Draco, with dates. Scorpius will be well taken care of, we promise."

Thin-lipped and taut, Draco inclined his head in a countenance of understanding, just as our father does when he feels he has no voice in a matter.

The Hogwarts Express let out a piercing whistle as steam started to flood the platform, and children started to pile into the carriages, mothers and fathers waving them off. Ginny put an arm around her daughter, Lily, and shot the three of us a bright smile. "Good luck, Cassie," she says with a wink, and leads Lily to the nearest door. Albus and Scorpius push their trolleys in unison, chattering away between themselves. Jamie steps forward as if to say something to me, however Harry takes his eldest son's cart and starts to push it for him, motioning for him to follow. Jamie's face falls slightly, though he fixes it in a flash, and shoots me a wide grin.

"See you on the train, yeah?" he asks, with - I am shocked to hear - a hopeful expression across his handsome features.

"Definitely," I reply, smiling widely.

Feeling somewhat optimistic that I may have made a new friend already, a Potter at that, when I turn and see Draco's stern gaze. I tilt my head, furrowing my eyebrows.

"I thought you liked James?" I inquire, studying his expression.

"I never said I liked the boy," Draco answered. "I only remarked on the notion that you're the only person I know who could match him - meaning you two are more alike than most."

"I see." I begin to push my own trolley towards the train, Padfoot resting nicely atop of the Black family suitcase, when Draco reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder.

"You saw Potter's face, he's hardly been happy that his youngest son is friends with a Malfoy, do you think that he's going to let his oldest fall into the same trap?" he sighed, and his voice softened. "I don't want this experience ruined for you by a smug Potter, that's all. Just be wary. Please."

Draco then rummages in his pocket, and pulls out a brown paper bag. He hands it to me, rather sheepishly, and waits for me to see what is inside. "Sweets?"

"Astoria's idea. She gave some to Scorpius on his first day too. She hoped it would make it easier for him to make friends. Couldn't bear the thought of him struggling."

I look down at the bag, and then back at Draco, who had glistening tears forming in his eyes at the thought of his late wife. I wrap my arms around him, squeezing tightly. "I'm glad I get to tell people you're my dad, and Astoria my mum, because I've always wished it to be true," I mumble into his chest.

Then, I pull myself away from Draco, and push myself towards the train. Lifting the raven-coloured suitcase off the trolley, and holding Padfoot in the other, I climb aboard the Hogwarts Express, with the rest of the stragglers, and watch as we pull away from the station. Draco sticks out like a rose in a cornfield, his icy blonde hair, crisp suit and pale complexion causing him to resemble a ghost of some sorts, in comparison with the colourful robes and rosy cheeks of the other wizards and witches around him.

He gives me a small wave, and then he's gone, the steam engulfing the station.

I then started to move away from the door, and shuffle through the small gap between the carriages. People gasped when they spot me shuffling past their compartments, and soon heads start to crane out to see the mysterious Malfoy daughter for themselves. I try and smile, but it's difficult when no one is smiling back. It was quite intimidating to say the least.

Dragging my suitcase behind me, with Padfoot curled up in my arms, I breathe a sigh of relief when I spot a familiar mop of silvery blonde hair in one of the compartments. I slide the door across, much to the shock of the two inhabitants, who snap their heads up from a magazine they had spread between them.

"You don't mind if your sister slums it with you two, do you Scorpy?" I tease, already placing my suitcase up on the rack. Padfoot jumps out of my arms and over to Albus, curling up beside him happily.

Scorpius hastily chuckles, whilst trying to slyly sneak the magazine behind his back. I raise an eyebrow, and place a hand on my hip, doing my best imitation of an older sibling scolding those younger. "That better not be anything inappropriate."

"It's just _The Daily Prophet_ . . . Albus was showing me an article about . . . about his dad," Scorpius stutters, looking to his friend for help. "You won't like it."

I frown. " _The Daily Prophet_? That's the newspaper that's always publishing false stories about people - us in particular. Why are you reading it?"

"Like I said, Albus said . . . he said that uh . . . there's something about Harry Potter in . . . in there."

One of the things I took pride in, regarding my nephew, was his inability to lie. That was a trait most Malfoy's had inherited, sadly including me and Draco.

I hold my hand out, and he rather reluctantly gives me the magazine. "I know it's about us, Scorpius," I sigh. "But it can't be any worse than that story Rita Skeeter managed to spin for three months about Draco - I mean father, being a werewolf."

"Oh I don't know, this one pretty much takes the cake," Scorpius grimaces. "It says some nasty stuff about you, Cass . . . "

He trails off as my eyes scan the page. I can barely believe the words I was reading.

 _ **"**_ _ **BELLATRIX LESTRANGE DEAD RINGER REVEALED TO BE MYSTERIOUS MALFOY"**_

 _Draco Malfoy's elusive daughter OR Bellatrix Lestrange's long-lost love child with Voldemort himself?_

 _Just yesterday witnesses reported seeing a girl who looked remarkably like the long since deceased Death Eater, Bellatrix Lestrange, wandering the streets in Diagon Alley. "It was as though I saw her ghost," says a shaken Mrs Padma Goldstein. "Everything about this girl reminded me of the woman who had killed my sister - save for the hair. It's the eyes; they're just as cold and venomous. She even had the nerve to brandish her wand around, threatening all those who looked in her direction. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, if you ask me."_

 _Mrs Goldstein isn't alone in her worries. Another witness, who prefers to remain nameless and rightly so, stated that he was present when the girl in question harassed the employees in Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions. "She terrorised the poor Malkin twins," says a frightened witness who would prefer to stay anonymous. "Demanding she have preferential treatment because of her status, throwing money around. If you could have heard the vile things that girl screamed at them, I fear for the unsuspecting wizard who had the misfortune of meeting her next."_

 _Another anonymous source has recently written to us here at the Daily Prophet to confirm that the Bellatrix Lestrange dead ringer is in fact her great-niece, sixteen year old Cassiopeia Malfoy._

 _OR IS SHE?_

 _Rumours of Scorpius Malfoy's - supposed son of infamous Death Eater Draco Malfoy - true parentage have been floating around ever since he was born. Witches and wizards speculate that the youngest Malfoy is in fact the son of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and Bellatrix Lestrange, both deceased. Now that we can exclusively reveal that another Malfoy has been kept in hiding for sixteen years, this suspicious action has only added fuel to the fire._

 _"_ _Well that only proves the fact that the Malfoy brats aren't who they say they are," claims current Hogwarts Muggle Studies Professor, Ms Carole Penhollow. "If they've had to keep one locked away, then surely they've got something to hide? Why keep this girl a secret? I say it's because all the rumours are true."_

 _Of course, some skeptics say that this claim is nonsense, due to the fact that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and Bellatrix Lestrange died on May 2nd, 1998, which would mean that Miss Malfoy would have to be over twenty-two years of age. However, others aren't quick to assume the worst._

 _"_ _I wouldn't put anything past old Lucius," says former Minister for Magic, Mr Cornelius Fudge. "If he wanted something badly enough, he'd manipulate and curse anyone in his way to wrap his claws around it."_

 _Well, whomever this Cassiopeia Malfoy may belong to, the magical community has made it very clear that she's not welcome here._

"Cass, are you alright?" Scorpius finally asked, as I brought a hand up to my mouth, stifling a gasp. "You've gone very pale."

I throw the paper down on the seat beside me, feeling my veins turn to lava. Is that what people truly think of us? _'_ _Cold and venomous'_? ' _Vile_ '? ' _Brats_ '?

"This is poison," I spit, furiously. So angered by the words I had read on the page, I was left unable to string two together to make a sentence "Those . . . those accusations are empty of all truth. In . . . Madam Malkin's shop they . . . they were rude to me!"

"I believe you," Scorpius assured me, with a slight smile, turning to Albus to wait for his encouragement also. However, he was bust tucking into a Pumpkin Pasty. Scorpius nudged his friend sharply in the ribcage, sending the pasty flying.

"What was that for you . . . !" he trailed off, as he noticed my red-faced state. "Oh, sorry Cassie. If it helps, I think the Daily Prophet has been struggling for material lately. Last week they made some rubbish claims that mum was having an affair with the lead singer of The Weird Sisters."

I chuckled at the thought, despite my fiery composure. "I can't believe they can get away with writing shit . . . sorry, rubbish like this. I mean, saying that me and you are actually the Dark Lord's children! Where did that come from?"

Scorpius didn't say anything this time, and I narrowed my eyes at him. "Scorpius? Where would they get this idea from? And what does it mean by rumours have been floating around since you were born?"

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Scorpius couldn't meet my eyes. Instead, he took to picking the thread out of the armrest. "Well, people seem to think that a time turner was used in . . . in order for me to be conceived. By the Dark Lord."

"It's a popular theory," Albus adds. "Despite all the obvious loopholes, people really seem to think it possible."

My jaw falls open. "Merlin's beard, why didn't you tell me Scorpius?"

He shrugs. "It didn't seem important. I mean, we know it's not true."

"Of course it's not bloody true!" I slump back in my seat, huffing. "Brilliant. So not only am I Malfoy, but the newspapers claim that I resemble Bellatrix Lestrange's ghost, and people are going to think I'm hers and the Dark Lord's daughter. Bloody brilliant."


	11. A Grin Like His

I must have dozed off amidst my infuriated state, for my rocky emotions began to reflect in my usually turbulent dreams.

I envisioned I was walking down a corridor, a corridor I did not recognise. The hall was cold and empty, as if nobody had stepped foot inside these walls for centuries. I felt isolation like I had never felt before - even stowed away inside Malfoy Manor for the last ten years. Running my fingertips against the rough brick walls, I suddenly heard a piercing laughter echo behind me that sent a chill down my spine. Swivelling around to find the source of the cackling, I instead spot a sea of faces, all with expressionless, blank eyes. Looking around, I see that the bodies have started to close in, whispering something, their voices slowly growing louder.

" . . . You're not welcome here. You're not welcome here. You're not welcome here. YOU'RE NOT WELCOME HERE!"

I'm suddenly forced back to reality, though my eyes remain glued shut. Feeling unnerved, I can hear people around me talking, though I'm relieved that they have accents - not the hollow calls from my nightmare. I strain my ear to listen in.

" _She's_ the monster everybody's gossiping about?" questioned a boy with a thick Irish accent. "She certainly doesn't look like any monsters I know."

"It's in the eyes, apparently. Didn't you read the paper today?" added another, in an equally heavy Scottish drawl.

"The monster can hear you," I finally say, opening my eyes, groggily. Clearing the sleep from my eyes with the palm of my hand, I survey the scene in front of me. Two unknown boys stand in the doorway, with wide eyes. Both were handsome, admittedly, in their own ways. One had a clean-shaven head, striking blue eyes, and a light dusting of freckles. The other was of Chinese descent, with sleek raven coloured hair, and eyes so dark they could have been black. The pair of them were looking at me as though I had sprouted four eyes or something in my sleep.

Running a hand through my tousled locks, I turn to my nephew and his friend, only to find another figure sat with them. James Potter II.

He grinned at me, and I couldn't help but grin back. His smile was infectious to say the least.

"Evening," he greeted me, warmly. _Evening?_ Furrowing my eyebrows, I whip my head around to look out the window, only to see the sky pitch black.

"You've been out cold for a good few hours, Cass," Scorpius softly told me, as though reading my thoughts.

"So you're the mysterious Malfoy everybody's been talking 'bout?" the Irish boy with the buzz cut asked, his harsh tone cutting through me like a blade. He looked me up and down, arms crossed.

"Must be," I replied, then added with a wicked gleam; "Or do you think I'm the ghost of Bellatrix Lestrange?"

James seemed to be the only one who finds it funny, chuckling slightly. The two boys seem unsure whether I was joking or not, glancing between themselves and me. Albus, nose buried in a book about magical creatures, also went a little pale. Even Scorpius looks down at his hands, uncomfortable.

"Come on, Aidan, you know she's just pulling your leg," James assured his friend, reaching out to poke the boy, Aidan, in the ribs. He batted him away, scowling. "She's harmless enough."

Aidan, still skeptical, eyed me suspiciously. He looked thoroughly unconvinced. Tucking his hands into his jean pockets, he leant against the doorframe, frowning. His friend beside him also appeared a little concerned, not saying much. James sighed, as he took his glasses off to wipe them on his shirt.

"Listen, are you going to introduce yourselves, or are you just going to glare at Cassie?" he demanded, turning to the the glowering boys.

Finally after a slight uncomfortable moment, the dark-haired, taller boy gives in. "I'm Jem Tiller, and this is Aidan Finnigan," he explains, coldly, in a monotonous voice. "I'd introduce Jamie here, but he tells us you've already met. Wouldn't shut up about you, in fact."

I smile at James, thankful for his positive attitude. If it wasn't for his presence, I feared I would have more than likely launched at the two boys, who felt it socially appropriate to stare down their noses at a girl they don't know anything about, save for her name. Normally, I wouldn't be inclined to leap to violent actions without jut cause, however the newspaper article had caused a severe dent in my self-esteem. On top of that all the sneers and sly whispers in the train station didn't leave me feeling very welcome. My nightmare had left me feeling shaken and empty. Finally, two strangers referring to me as a monster only added to my already rapidly declining inner peace. James, however, was managing to piece - no pun intended - my disposition back together, merely by grinning.

And what a wonderful grin he had too.

"I hope you only told them the nice things, James?" I queried, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. I tuck a loose curl behind my ear, not breaking eye contact with James. His eyes were a piercing green, like the emerald leaves during summer in a forest. They twinkled when he replied.

"I haven't got a bad word to say about you. And it's Jamie, if you like."

I nod. "Jamie it is," I said, trying the name out on my tongue. It tasted like fresh air.

Albus coughed, beside Jamie, and I saw that he had finally put his book down. "Did you want something, Jamie?"

Breaking his gaze with me, I was surprised to see that Jamie's cheeks had tinged a little pink, as he cleared his throat. "No - I mean yes, I did," he splutters. "I was wondering if you had your Hogsmeade permission slip with you. Mum says you left it on the kitchen table this morning before she reminded you about it."

Rolling his eyes, I sensed that Albus and his older brother didn't often meet eye-to-eye. "Why are you all insistent on making me go Hogsmeade? Don't you understand that I don't want to go?"

Jamie sighed. "You can't stay shut up inside the castle another year, Al, it's not right."

"When did you care all of a sudden?" Albus suddenly burst, causing us all to flinch slightly. I had almost forgotten about Aidan and Jem in the doorway, until I saw them both wince.

Scorpius put a hand on Albus' shoulder, whilst I saw a slight flash of hurt in Jamie's eyes, before it disappeared. "Fine. Stay inside all year. See if I care."

Jamie got up to leave, his body tense. Though I hadn't known the pair long, I assumed their relationship was rocky, fuelled by what I believe to be Albus' self-imposed detachment from his family, and Jamie's stubbornness to address his brother's alienation. I felt as though I connected with both of them; I too was certainly guilty of sometimes being too bullheaded and relentless for my own good, and I definitely knew a thing or two about solitude.

Reaching out, I placed a hand over Albus' own. Shocked by my sudden gesture, he wasn't sure whether he should pull away, or allow me some interaction, so instead chose to remain frozen.

"I've spent the last ten years shackled up inside - figuratively and literally - and I would have given anything to have had the chance you all were given. I've lived my life through Scorpius, looking out a window prepared to give anything to join him at Hogwarts. Don't live your life through others, looking out of windows."

"But you don't understand - "

"You're right, I don't. But I understand the feeling of isolation, so I know that nobody would ever choose to feel like that."

Albus didn't reply. He was looking in my eyes, and saw what I couldn't put into words - just how lonely I've been - and I saw in his that he suffered the same. His hand slowly detached from mine, and felt for something in his pocket. He pulled out a slip of paper, and showed it to his brother, who had been watching our conversation with intense concentration, with an aura of astonishment.

"I didn't want to risk the howler mum would have sent me if I'd left it at home again," he muttered, unable to meet his brother's eyes.

Jamie didn't say anything, but instead patted his brother's shoulder. Turning to me, he still appeared at a loss for words.

"Do you . . . I mean, you don't have to stay here . . . do you want to sit with me . . . with us?"

Aidan slapped his friend's arm, as if to stop the words falling from his mouth. "What are you doing, mate?"

Despite the slight discomfort that came with knowing you're unwanted, I also felt a pang of elatedness, knowing at least Jamie wanted me to join him, even if his friends didn't. Still, I looked back to my nephew, and knew that I couldn't leave him. Not after discovering what the other kids on this train thought about him.

I shook my head. "No, it's ok. Thank you, but my brother was going to tell me about the hidden tunnels in the castle."

Jamie looked slightly downcast, which made me almost regret saying no, but then he grinned. "Well, I'll find you the train pulls into the station. We can ride up to the castle together, ok?"

Gesturing to his sour-faced friends, who were watching our exchange through narrowed eyes, I asked him; "What about your sidekicks here?"

Chuckling, Jamie dismissed them, much to their displeasure. "They'll be alright walking."

I too laugh. "Ok, it's a deal."

Smile stretching across his dashing face, he walked over to the compartment door, ushering his friends outside. "I'll look for you."

Then he closed the doors, leaving me buzzing with excitement. So what if the majority of the students didn't want me at Hogwarts? Jamie did, and that was enough for now.


	12. NOTICE

**I've moved this story to Archive of Our Own, so I hope that everybody who has been lovely and supported this story on here will continue supporting it on there. Thank you.**

 **The title is the same, and my username is _clarkedarling_.**


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